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rise-my-angel · 2 months ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

61 - Scattered Pieces of Truth

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 18.6k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past traumas, past character death, possessive tendencies, smut, handjobs, p in v, accidental voyeurism,

Notes: You may notice that leading up to a certain accidental incident, that I didn't build up to it with a horribly ill fitting contrast of beheading a toddler. Take notes, Condal. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

To the few in the room, the sight could be seen as a rather strange one. At least in context. To Olly, you had been introduced in his life as a fierce figure commanding an authority which granted him mercy at what he felt like was the end of his path. You offered him empathy and forgiveness but showed none of the same to Ser Alliser Throne and beheaded him the day you had arrived. In a way you were the image of an intimidating Queen to the boy in ways stories only whispered about Targaryean women of the past. But in other ways, you also were the closest thing to a mother he had left.

Counting his blessings, Olly knew that whatever older brother sort of figure he had once seen in Jon, he had ruined the night he shoved a dagger through his heart. But yet somehow you took Olly in regardless, and found a place back in the world for him when many times over he felt as if he lost his. So to him, being allowed to stand at your side in moments like this were odd, a side of you he had only ever seen before in memories of his own mother. Perhaps he was a bit jealous, but after he had done everything to warrant you executing him, you took him in as your own and kept him by your side so that he served someone who understood his complications.

On the other hand, he was not the only traitor in the mix whom you spared. Theon stood with a life so vastly different then the one he once lived, he felt practically a stranger to him. The day Ramsay Snow had sent him into Moat Cailin to negotiate the other Ironborn to surrender, he could remember such a wave of conflict. The way blood was spit into his face and called a woman for trying to say there was honour in a fair defeat. How on one side he could hear himself trying to voice through a shaking in his muscles that he was actually Reek, but then he would also stand there and see you.

In the dungeons of the Dreadfort, sickly, ill, covered in so much sweat, grime, and blood that he almost did not recognize you. The way you had tore your head up from hiding in your arms with tears staining your cheeks as he told you he didn’t actually murder Bran and Rickon. The way you looked at his state, his circumstances and he knew you had forgiven him. How no one had called him Theon Greyjoy but you. When one man had murdered the commander in order to desperately accept Theons terms, he had remembered who he felt like next to you and Robb. Someone who could be better then his worst parts, only to have Ramsay lead his men in and flay them all alive.

Theon had stood silent as Ramsay wrapped an arm around his shoulders insisting that traditions were important, as to why he had done it. But all he could do was stand there. Not even shaking or twitching as he normally would. He wasn’t really Reek then, he was Theon. And afterwards when they had returned to the Dreadfort to prepare the move to Winterfell was when Roose Bolton gave Ramsay his legitimization from King Tommen.

Once Ramsay was no longer a Snow, the less Reek did Theon feel on the inside, and the more he felt determined to not let Ramsay turn you into that either.

Finding the only bravery he had in years, Theon had shot Myranda in the back with arrows to stop her from attacking you. When you had found your only bravery in you, you plunged a kitchen knife so deep into her mouth that you had been covered in her blood for days. All he could do was hear how close you both were to being caught and how frozen in fear you were. How weak as he was Theon managed to find that strength, he had picked you up to jump from the battlements, a height you yourself had once hoped would kill you. He had shaken you out of your daze, and Theon never forgot that what convinced you to stand with him and run wasn’t even the promise that he was taking you to safety or taking you to Jon.

What got you up and standing was Theon offering his hand and promising that he wouldn’t leave you behind. Yet if he looked back then and seeing now, it was night and day. Not a hint of the same person stood there and it was difficult for Theon to put into proper thoughts. The relief of being able to witness you getting to this point, but also the conflict of truth coming this way, quite literally.

Of course, for all of them, Maester Wolkan saw it in the most direct way. He hadn’t met you before, or after escape. Hardly days had passed by the time he was summoned to the dungeons to examine you, since you had awoken to new life. He had seen you at every part of your worst. Once he had walked out in the courtyards here in Winterfell to a scene of Ramsay. Your dress torn off, shivering in a short shift in the snow as Ramsay had knocked you to the ground and threatened to slice the remainder off when he had to interject. Saying that marrying you would not be possible if the boy let you freeze to death.

He had shoved you to the snow even more as he got up to storm away, Wolkan managing to get you gently to your feet and covered to guide you inside but had so little reaction from you. Numb like your skin felt bare in the freezing air. Most of that year he knew you, there was not a hint of life in your eyes, and it was truly a feat he could claim saying you were the saddest girl he’d ever known. Yet here you were now, something nowhere near that sight.

A smile bright and shining on your face as you looked down to little Eddard, toying with his small kicking feet as if to tickle the bottoms of them each time he got to wiley. It had been close to a week passing since arriving home and Maester Wolkan had insisted on seeing the baby again to check both his health and state of growth. Question after question and it seemed the little one had gotten fussy laying there on his own.

Causing you now as Wolkan made his final examination for the day, you had knelt down closer so your eye level was more with where the baby lay. Hands always on him in one way or another, distracting him sometimes long enough that Wolkan could do something that might have otherwise been distressing. Or leaning up closer to his forehead with a kiss and gentle shushes to soothe him or pull out a small babble.

He was much how he was in your womb, a constant trouble maker. Always demanding of your attention, but the more affirmations he was healthy, the better you felt. The less as if you feared you had doomed your son to a difficult, short life simply because you had birthed him for too early. At the very least however, with both Theon and Olly in the room, you would be spared any questions regarding yourself for now. The less you thought about your state of mind, the better.

“I suspect within a fortnight, the little Prince will have caught up in growth to any other infant his age should be.” Glancing up to your side, your hands almost automatically moving around little Eddards grabbing insistence to dress him properly and warm once more. The others had been correct, there had been more then enough people around Winterfell and Winter Town whom wished to bring gifts and clothes to the newborn.

Nodding a bit, you had glanced down every now and again to give a little narrow eyed smirk to the trouble maker before finally giving him what he wanted. Carefully picking up him in your arms and resting him carefully up high on your front, as it seemed your neck and shoulder being his favourite place to hide away. “And you’re certain there is nothing more I could be doing to help with that?”

Shaking his head, Wolkan reached out to very playfully nudge a knuckle against the baby’s cheek whom both gave a small amusing sound but also squirmed closer to you at the same time as if he couldn’t decide. “You and the King have done a tremendous job in the face of a very unfavourable start. I assure you there is nothing more you need do then what you are right now.” Face only falling troubled a small it you clarified in asking if it was normal that at this young he seemed so shy. “Many highborns are surrounded by people all day and night when they are born. Always attended to by many, they get used to it rather quickly as a result. Little Eddard however had a start very reliant on his mother and father alone. It is only natural he will take more time to get used to being around as many as he is living in a castle.”

Glancing down, you could see his little hands mindlessly grasping at strands of your hair that sat closer to your shoulder. Almost holding it close to him as a young one may do with a plush toy, the thought no doubt crossing your mind if what happened had made him too reliant on you. Which was not at all what you wanted, people thinking you were raising your son to depend on his mother rather then grow up learning to be strong and stand on his own. Boys like Joffery, raised without being taught what being a leader entailed and hid behind his mothers skirts at every instance he could not yell and shout into getting his way.

The flash across Wolkans face with the growing concern of doubt on yours had you stand up straighter before the issue could be even slightly brought to your attention from his point of view. “I thank you, Maester Wolkan. I know you have much else on your plate, I won’t keep your time any further.”

Always a man not perturbed by dismissal in your manner, he was nothing but understanding likely of what you avoided. “No thanks needed, your grace. This is exactly what I am here for.” A nod given, before turning and gesturing to Olly to make leave, knowing Theon would follow.

At this point, even if you told him not too. Nevermore were he and Jon on the same page then when it came to watching you like a hawk. If it wasn’t Jon it was Ghost, if it wasn’t Ghost it was Theon. And somehow if it were neither of them, you still could not shake that feeling like eyes kept following you. The wrappings around your healing hands were cause for some concern, but not enough you couldn’t figure out why it felt as if eyes all around were watching you.

The only people who knew so far of the other day were Bran, Jon, and yourself. No one else had any reason to think they should keep an eye on you for that purpose, and yet they still did. It was odd for some to watch you of all people so motherly with such an easy smile attached, as it was odd for you to grasp the idea that it was somehow more complicated and difficult being back here then it had been for months out alone in the far North.

Another pair of eyes though, scoured the letter sent his way. The pile which came before were all of mystery, this one of answer, and yet it all felt as complicated as before.

Everything was complicated. Jon couldn’t condemn you nor Bran for what you were not saying about what occurred yesterday. He wasn’t even so sure Bran understood whatever he had spent over a year doing that far North. These sights, these visions Jon had. They always felt different then the way you’d describe yours. The dreams different too. Jon had walked your dreams, you never did his. Jon had never found himself lost in whatever visions he saw, he was here and saw there. It felt like it matched more of what Bran was experiencing then you, but if Bran didn’t really understand what this all was, Jon knew he had not a chance for himself. Let alone expecting you to explain it to him in ways he could grasp.

Instead, Jon focused on other things. Things which he’d rather not but were right in front of him. Or, the thing, the person. The man with the pin of a mockingbird attached to his cloak wandering his home as if he had a plan that would fall into place. Out of everything Petyr Baelish had done, he was smart enough to lie and cover his tracks to the point he stood in the Stark home as if he were not an enemy.

Both men were well aware Jon did not fall for it, but that made it worse. He already knew to navigate the suspicions of a man whom did not trust him. There was little Jon could prove, and what he could had to be careful. He and Arya had debated it just hours earlier.

Irate and pacing in his study, only Arya felt comfortable enough with Jon to rant and rave and yell the manner which she did. It wasn’t personal, so Jon felt no reason to tell her to calm down. With her, that would certainly not calm her any way. “We know everything he’s done to the point we could write a book about it. How is that not enough?”

Gloved hands braced against the wood of his desk, Jon stood behind it looking at her with a lower, more firm tone. “We can’t just accuse him of anything, you know that. If I drag him into court and throw nothing but accusations I can’t prove at him, he walks out of our walls for good.”

Arya’s face scrunched in frustration, Jon did know the feeling to well. An antsy sensation as if to physically fight back against a man only capable of mastering the art of mind games. Your name coming from her mouth, Jon too could sense the strong anger over it. “What he tried to do to her, and you think it’s safer having him here?”

A pit of something dark sat in Jons stomach. You had gone to take the baby to see Wolkan, he knew where you were and who was with you. He needed to swallow down that swirling void telling him to never let you out of his sight. Saying that to you was one thing, but to control you to that degree was another no matter what a specific part of himself said. Pushing through, a roughness was no doubt evident in his voice. “He almost had her killed when he was a thousand miles away in the Vale. I don’t know who he controls out there, but I know the limit of his reach here.” As soon as Arya tried to argue back, Jon continued on. “And if I accuse him now and can’t prove it, if I banish him from Winterfell or the North, Sansa leaves with him.”

Stopping in her tracks, Jon recognized the hesitation in her eyes attempting to smooth over with indifference. “You don’t know that. She came all the way back here, why would she leave if-”

Cutting her off, Jon felt uncomfortable with the why, but he explained it regardless. Arya needed to understand the gravity of the problem, even if he was hiding it from you. “Haven’t you wondered why even though you two spent your whole childhoods arguing about everything, why is it now it seems Sansa is only interested in fighting with me?”

The hesitation again he knew, she hadn’t quite considered that until then. “She’s just upset about learning she has no claim.” That was more of an excuse of cope and both knew it.

Jon just had to be the one to vocalize it more then he had to you. “Littlefinger knows he can’t manipulate me into giving him what he wants.” Your name coming from his lips, “And he can’t just try to do it with her either, with how much of a past they both know about. He’s smarter then that. His only chance is to use Sansa. And put her against me. And who’s the easiest person to do that with right now?”

Your name came from both of them, Jon in a tense frustration, Arya in a sort of defeat.

Walking around his desk, Jon leaned back to it’s front. Arms crossing in front of him as he watched Arya cease her pacing before he continue. Arya first asking how he was doing that. “I’m a bastard. It’s easy to find things about bastards to look down on.” Demanding more of what specifically, he knew that these sorts of things to Arya of all people, were not what she’d ever consider. Certainly not now. “I’m a bastard, married to a highborn girl. Who before me, was married to my highborn brother. If you’re assuming the worst about me, what does that look like?”

Face twisting into disbelief, Arya tried fighting back. “She knows you better then that, Sansa knows you’d never force anyone into being with you-”

The truth though hurt more then that, far more. “She doesn’t think I forced her into anything. All Littlefinger needs to do, is give Sansa the idea and she let it grow on her own.” It always came back to you, and he hated it. “People look down at me like I’m a liar, like I’m manipulative on purpose. If you tell someone bastards are born from sin, it’s not too hard to convince that person that I seduced her into being with me for my own benefit.”

It did take a good moment for Arya to connect what he was implying, but Jon knew it. The signs all begun to point to it, and now he was sure. The easiest way to keep Sansa from accepting the circumstances of Robb disinheriting her, is to use the one person Sansa always looked up to as an older sister and paint her as a victim of a bastard’s lust and deceit. To convince her that Jon was using you to keep his title and favour amongst his men. And Jon returning to Winterfell with you and a newborn made that look worse.

He and you had joked of it on the ship home from Dragonstone, but it was true. It is far harder to separate a King and a Queen from one another, if the man gifts her a child. And a son and heir no less. “I was always protective of her, but now it’s different..it’s..more intense and to someone looking for the worst in me-”

Finishing for him, again Arya’s tone had been defeat and a tinge of frustration, understandably. “It just looks like you’re controlling her.”

Jon was protective of you, possessive to the point sometimes he wondered if controlling you that way would make things easier for you, so you didn’t have to worry. But he also knew that wasn’t right, that wasn’t the part of him that Ned Stark raised. He struggled already, having to be apart from you during the day when for over six months he had you all to himself every single hour, but this was something else. This was a despising burning feeling in his heart at being apart from you, wanting you to just stay beside him and listen to what he told you for your own good.

He didn’t want to be that way, but a dark part of him always felt now like it would be so much safer for you if you did, even though the man in him knew that wouldn’t be good for you in every other way. He had tried to vocalize it to you in a softer way, and you had tried to dissuade him from such thoughts, but it continued to fester. Those parts of Jon that Sansa was worried for you about, weren’t made from nothing. Because part of Jon was that way, or wanted to be that way with you. She was just wrong about the why.

Being a bastard had nothing to do with this obsessive feeling. Just the blood running through his veins.

Sitting there now, Jon knew he had to still be careful. Sansa was his sister, and she belonged here, in her home with her family, but if Jon made the wrong move or was too bold too early, she might leave and not return. And with what winter storms approached, Jon knew that couldn’t be an option. He had to be careful, he had to stick to not only what he could prove, but what he had the right to prove.

Littlefinger had done many things, but Jon knew if he was using you to manipulate Sansa against him, if Jon could prove to his sister that the man tried to have you killed, that would sway her. Perhaps make her realize the extent of the manipulative things he spoke about Jon. Proving in a trial that Petyr Baelish had orchestrated an attempt on the Queen in the North’s life was as good of something to end this shadow he held on the Stark family, then every other crime he’s committed.

But between Jon and Arya, both knew they had a good chance at finding a conclusive way to do that, he just had to be quick about it, and somehow he needed to get it across to Sansa that even if just for the trial, she needed to trust him. Whatever other problems the two of them would have after, could be dealt with later. Right now, he needed to ensure two things alone.

Making Littlefinger pay for his crimes, and ensuring those crimes would not bring his little sister down with him. So as he wrote a raven to send off, Jon knew this was just one of the many people whom he needed to reach out too. His father would have done this as thoroughly and as properly as he could, and so Jon would do no less then that.

Jon just had to remind himself, he was only like one father. Not the other. He didn’t know how he’d handle being more like one then the other, so if he refused to think about it, maybe it this one problem would just disappear.

If only Jon didn’t spend most of the next hours after that, tense trying to figure out where you were and who you were with, and certainly not summon you to his side like a servant just to appease that darkness. Though as he descended the dark steps down further into the undergrounds, Jon did for once that day, find himself grateful that you were not here.

He knew what his men had informed him of, and for all accounts, she had been acting quite a good prisoner. Her brother in law had not protested any of it, nor did the members of House Ryswell. Jon had laid out very publicly what he was accusing her of, informed them he had the written evidence to back himself up, and his men had taken up in defence when she had suddenly stood from her seat in an aggression.

Having written to Lord Dustin and Lord Ryswell both, he knew the options were there. They were not protesting to her having been in Winterfell's dungeons these months, but he also did not wish for his time spent as her jailer, to be seen as keeping her from everyone else she knew.

Dark eyes peeking from more messy dark hair, Jon could see Barbrey Dustin while physically looked more worse for wear, she did not appear to be in ill health. Fed proper meals twice a day, accommodate her needs within reason, and allow her to be attended too should she need aid in her health. But according to Maege, she had not been much of any fuss. Kept to herself, and didn’t speak to anyone on the matters she was arrested for.

If Jon were honest, he was not expecting any respecting gesture whatsoever, nor would he really blame a prisoner for not doing so. Yet she with an expression twisted into her permanent frowning scowl, stood up with ease, and gave a half effort curtsy. “Your Grace.”

A nod back, Jons response seemed to act as fair permission to sit once more. “My lady.”

Coming closer, circles under her eyes were prominent, but they looked less hateful then the day she glared up at him being accused of a crime. Jon had not spoken to you what they had discussed alone, but just enough to ensure that he got the information he needed. Information, which was to be of use in a different way he ever intended to use it. Her voice came out more in a strained husk as if speaking was more on the side of foreign to her at this point. “It has been many months since I’ve had any sort of visitor. The last I expected of them would be yourself.”

Jumping right into the point, Jon spoke with an even tone and not with much in the way of easing her into his purpose. “Are you aware that for the past week, Lord Petyr Baelish has been in Winterfell?” Past the dim shadows casting onto her with firelight, Jon may have been able to more clearly see her skin pale, her shoulders stiffen. “He returned my sister Sansa, now that it is safe in the North for her.”

Both were patient in the silence, and the flickering away of Barbreys eyes spoke many stories all doused in a degree of fear until a more push for sternness came through. “I called you a fool once, I suspect needing to do so again for thinking that is all his intentions, would be unnecessary?” Only a single nod, and it forced her to find her words. Switching between looking up at him and drawing away in thought as if the fear had only just occurred to her. “So, what? Are you here to feed me to the wolves?” A breath passed between as she tilted her head in almost an amusement for herself. “Or, so to speak.”

Once more, Jon did not bother addressing the worst of whatever she would say to him. Pandering to her ire was not how he got a full and fair confession out of her, and he would not start now. “Lord Baelish has done more to hurt my family then you know, and finally we have him here. Right in front of us. If we were at war, I’d be able to keep him here, in our lands where I could surround him and kill him. But you and I both know he isn’t a man that fights with weapons. He’s smarter then that. Which means if I am going to bring him to justice, then I need to be smart too. Fight things his way.”

Glancing him up and down before turning away, Barbrey inhaled as she leaned her head against the wall facing forward once more. “Every man and women in the North despises him, why not simply drag him into court? Cut his throat and be done with it.”

Quick to respond, Jon held no room for doubt on his meaning. “That isn’t the kind of leader I want to be, and that isn’t who my father raised me to be.” A small lift of her eyebrows in some gesture of her own understanding, Jon pushed passed it. “I can only charge him for crimes connected to the North. To my family. But if I’m going to do that, I need to leave no room for doubt. If I declare him guilty, then I need all of my men to know what I know that led me to that conclusion.”

Muttering, she still did not return to look at him. “So what is it you want from me?”

Thinking for only a moment, Jon crouched down to much more evenly meet her eye level, his voice dropping in tone and volume as if to match. Without the furs adorning him, not standing over her, Jon knew making himself look less intimidating here was the right approach. “You told me the truth, all the truth. And for that I thank you, but right now I need more then honesty. I need your help.” Allowing a moment of quiet before continuing, Jon knew to give her the time to process each stage here. “I’ve written to your father and brother in law. Both have agreed to my terms, that you will be allowed to return either to Barrowton or the Rills for the remainder of your sentence. You’ll be stripped of your title, and to any right of Ladyship you’ve once had, but you can walk in whichever home you choose without chains.”

There was only one plausible caveat to that kind of offer, and her eyes rising up to the ceiling with a deep inhale and exhale from her nose told Jon she had put it together. “The sheer fact that a slimy weasel such as him hasn’t already sent an assassin in to murder me is my only remaining proof the Old Gods even vaguely care about my life. And now you come down here after months, and ask me to step into a public trial and give all of those same details but for him to know I betrayed him over?” A false laugh which did not reach her eyes left. “If this was an attempt at a joke, your grace, I would return back to your depressingly humourless self. Making others laugh does not suit you.”

Little had even hit his skin with such words. “Tell me. Do I look like the kind of man to come down here and make jokes about your safety? Make light of a man who I know tried to have my wife murdered?” Dragging dark eyes over to his, only a spot of guilt did Jon see within her gaze before she once more broke it.

Another laugh that time more of a huff leaving her chest. “Forgive me, but some days I’m not quite sure which wolf’s blood you really came from.” Were Jons blood capable of freezing so suddenly his heart would stop, it would’ve happened all in a laughing breath of Barbrey Dustins words. He made not a single indication as such, but he felt his heart unfreeze from the fires around and beat faster and more painfully then before. “Brandon had no children as far as he knew, but women looked to him like no other man. Were I not to know any better, I’d say you were more likely to be Brandons then Ned’s, given how impossible either of you seem to have been able to take a joke.”

If Barbrey was implying that Ned Stark was funny compared to his Uncle Brandon, Jon crouched there more understanding why many southerners all deemed Northerners as cold and humourless. Either way, the cut was meant more as a jest to entertain herself then force Jons mind to spiral. Stay focused he told himself. “If I hold a trial for Petyr Baelish, and I can’t prove his guilt, then he will leave Winterfell and take my sister with him. If he leaves now, my brother and sister will never see Sansa again and they only just reunited. Winter is coming. You know it, I know it. There isn’t a worse time to allow him the chance at keeping my little sister from her family then now when they all need each other the most.”

Jon had yet to know how he was going to mend that long since broken bridge between he and Sansa, but giving her reasons to distrust him more and leave with the one man who Jon knew had nothing but ill intentions towards her, was not an option. Their father had confessed to a crime he didn’t commit for a chance to try and protect her, and Jon would not let him down now by making him die for that in vain. Sansa could hate and distrust him all she wanted, but she was a Stark, and Jon had to keep what was left of them together now more then ever.

Giving Barbrey no room to even speak before he continued. “You were someone important to my uncle. I don’t want to dishonour that memory by keeping you locked down here for the rest of your life, you deserve to be home. You won’t have any power, but you won’t be down here in chains being fed whatever the guards are kind enough to give you in hopes it’s warm. Do this for me, and you will return home. I swear it.”

It was not a promise made by a heart tree, but Jon was a man who would hold himself to a promise as such regardless. He had to keep his family together, and Jon would be damned by all of the gods if he didn’t do every single thing possible to protect you from the man who tried to murder you.

Still though, as Jon returned to the ground level he couldn’t shake off one thought. No, it was not the blood of Brandon Stark making Jon as intense of a man as he was, it was someone far worse.

It was someone he was struggling day by day, to pretend he was still nothing like.

Tormund Giantsbane loved his people, he really did. But he also would be the first to admit what a bunch of stubborn pains in his ass they all were. It had taken Mance Rayder over twenty years to get them all to stop fighting and work together, and even now it was as if they were incapable in their blood of not getting on his nerves.

Yet if there was one perk of his people, and him having spent so much time around fancy southerners, it was that settling problems was a lot easier. More then once Tormund would simply walk up to a pair ready to rip each other to pieces, and grab at both their collars and yank them apart or throw one off the other with a yell to shut the fuck up.

The free folk worked better with someone leading them, each clan always had one chieftain but as a whole group someone needed to tell them what was what and keep them in order. So from town to town Tormund would travel keeping everyone in check and on track with their purpose out here. The last time he had been in this place, what the southerners called the Gift, felt so far away it was a lifetime ago in comparison to where he was now.

Sure he had climbed the Wall more times then he could count, but none of those times south mattered beyond what ended up being the result of the last major time. The whole lot of them had followed where Orell said he saw something. Arriving at the Fist of the First Men, they had all gathered around the spiral formation of dead horses bloody and scattered. He and Mance had the same thought as the later knelt down with a frustrated disdain looking it over. “Always the artists.”

He knew for a fact who there didn’t quite get what was going on, two for a fact the way they spoke briefly about it. Ygritte had spoken up, “I thought you said there were dead crows.” When Orell confirmed that there had been, it seemed as if it was only Tormund and Mance who understood what was going on.

Well, them and the crow. Back and forth Jon and Mance went about what happened, how many men Mormont brought out here and a silent unnerved understanding in him about what he knew had happened here. Mance noting that Mormont took a big gamble coming out this far, and that the best fighting men had to be dead, and they were far from home. Which was when he said it. “Tormund, climb the Wall.” Telling him to bring the crow with him since he may be useful. “If not, throw him off the Wall.”

Tormund had spent much of that time south really not caring what Orell kept going on about. Jon hadn’t given them any reason to not trust him yet, and Tormund knew what was really getting him worked up. It was pretty pathetic if you asked him, the fact that he felt so threatened by a crow of all men. Orell wanted to fuck Ygritte, she was into the crow. He was mad and made it everyone else’s damn problem. That was, until Orell was right.

“Make the crow kill him. You’re one of us now. Prove it.”

A fight broke out in the rain, and in truth, Tormund had more then his fair share of time to think about after he was thrown in a cell in Castle Black months later. His size, his skill? And he didn’t even try fighting Jon, not once. Instead he all but held Ygritte down to stop her from losing her shit, yelling at her to accept that he was still one of them.

He knew her for a long time, she was one of them, but he’d be damned to say she was unbearable to deal with after that day. All she could do was walk around in a mood, or rant and rave about wanting to kill him. Once telling her as simply as he could, “When you actually do, then tell me all about it. For now, I’d rather talk about anything then your crow.”

Then they attacked the very villages his people lived in now. Tormund now didn’t make excuses for it, he did what he did and couldn’t take it back, but in their own way he and Jon understood each other. Tormund was a solider, did what his leader told him to do and he did it well. Attack the villages near the Wall to draw them out, but that didn’t work so they kept hitting more and more until it was clear they were forcing them to hit them at Castle Black directly.

For Jon, that night was probably as good a win as he could’ve imagined for how few men it turned out he lied about having. A thousand he said, and maybe there were a good two hundred at most, and still he managed to hold them all off on both sides. In his memory though, was Tormund ever angry.

He liked Jon, always did. Came into the tent with attitude, snapping back to his threat by saying all men die the same no matter what size they are. Liked him from then on, and truthfully, of course he saw it coming. Orell kept saying it, little signs kept coming from Jon that told a different story then what he was pretending to say, Tormund knew it was coming and that made him angry the most.

That he saw this coming, and liked the crow anyways. And now he was mad for it. Out of his whole band of men he led, only he was left alive. Surrounded by crows but none wanted to get anywhere near him with his anger. He’d cut anyone down who came close. Only for a deep rasping voice to approach him in a frustrated defeat. “It’s finished, Tormund. Let it end.”

Not his best moment it was, hissing out, “This is how a man ends-” Only for the moment he moved with his blade, did Jon shoot him in the leg with a crossbow and knock his blade out of his hand and sending him to the ground. Not bothering to even stay as he told the other crows to put him in chains for now. Dragging him away, Tormund had shouted spitting that he should’ve thrown Jon from the wall when he had the chance.

But everything after that stayed in his mind. The way Jon spoke about the now dead Ygritte with something clearly angry saying he had no choice in what he did with her, and how Tormund got the clear sign what went on between them wasn’t quite what Ygritte would walk around boasting it was. The way Jon spoke of the woman he really loved already being dead and slaughtered like an animal, and the way he admitted that this King who showed up was the father of the woman Jon loved.

Gods help him there was way more about this Jon Snow for Tormund to think about then he expected in those days. But despite it all, as Tormund walked through the village all but yanking a passing child up by his neck telling him to “Hand it over.” Putting the knife attempted to be stolen back on his person, and the child to his feet telling him to scram, did Tormund know that somehow he still wouldn’t have traded any of where he was now for a better version of how he got here.

That dark eyed crow who walked into the tent that day, and yet now Tormund walked the village wondering when he’d get his ass back. He went off beyond the Wall and took you with him, but the other men around Jons castle weren’t quite the same. Part of him still could laugh, Tormund had not fathomed how insufferably protective of you Jon was going to be out there. He wished some days he could’ve joined this journey just for a chance to see him keep you tied to his side like you were a baby who couldn’t be left alone.

Dalba asked once what if you two were dead, and he never bought into that. Weaker men then Jon had survived out there, and at least he had a real cause motivating him. Still though, waiting to know what was out there, what happened, what would happen and when you two would get back was tedious and aggravating. And Tormund could only push around his daughters husband so much before that stopped amusing him.

Which was why almost on instinct, did Tormund at first swear it was Jon and yourself riding into that village. From a distance he sure as hell looked like him, and he could only see a blur that looked like a darker haired woman on the horse behind him. Though the closer they rode as a crowd gathered, did Tormund not have a single clue who the woman was. Hands tied in front of her, a narrowed brow as she sat in a silence but he did certainly recognize the rider.

It wasn’t Jon, but gods knew Tormund was more then familiar with what black haired Stark just came riding up. Years ago, Tormund would’ve used getting this close to sink a blade deep in his head, but both men approached the other in almost amusement as it was not much meaningful apprehension. “Everyone thought you were long dead.”

A tease on his tone that Tormund could pin as so close to Jons came right back without hesitation. “I’m surprised you didn’t hunt down my corpse and bring me back, just to kill me yourself.” Tormund lamenting that he had thought about it and the silence between could’ve turned the air.

Instead both men shook hands, a strange understanding it seemed of where both were to stand with each other now. “The fuck are you doing all the way out here?”

Gesturing back to the woman on the horse, her eyes tore through the village no doubt putting together that they were not the average Northerners. Benjen Stark at the very least, was always a lot less annoying to listen to then the bloody Halfhand used to be. “Taking this one to Winterfell. She’s Jons prisoner, should be in his dungeons where he’d want to keep an eye on her.” Asking what she did, she finally looked away from them and down with something no doubt of guilt, and Benjen hesitated. Dark eyes twisting behind in what to say before settling on a non answer. “Nothing good.”

“How the hell did you find a prisoner of Jon when hes all the way out north?”

Benjen’s answer was short and rather matter of fact. “He’s not anymore.” Taken back, Tormund only stared at him for an explanation when he elaborated, including you this time. “Both of them have been back for a few days. They found his little brother, my nephew out there. Poor lad can’t walk anymore, so beside bringing him back and a newborn, they had no room for a prisoner going home.”

Out of everything just spoken, Tormund asked one thing in question. “Newborn? What he find an abandoned baby out there?” As if turned out, the truth was even more baffling.

Much like Jon though, Benjen skipped passed any talk not of the matter at hand. “I need to take her to Winterfell, and Jon asked to get you to come with me when I did. Hasn’t had time to do it himself if you can believe that.”

Unable to help himself, Tormund looked to the side where Ryk stood, a mocking tone of strong condescension dripping from his words as he brought up your name. “She’s been married to Snow half the time you have my daughter. How come she already had a baby and you can’t even manage to shoot out one long enough to even flirt with the idea?”

By the time Tormund was up on his horse, his eyes found that of the woman tied up to the back of Benjen's, asking before the man walked up to interject. “What the hell did you do to piss Snow off? Try to kidnap his girl?” The way she said nothing, and the way she looked down to nothing and no one by the time they set off spoke volumes.

Something serious had happened that neither she nor Benjen were yet willing to slightly share. That was fine though, he’d get it out of Jon one way or another.

Knelt down, you had the wooden side pulled down just in front of you. One hand rested soothingly on the baby’s front while the other sat atop his head, your thumb running back and forth as finally you watched his eyes slip closed and the rest of him falling asleep. All day no matter what you were doing he was a fussy little thing, always being mischievous and demanding of your attention it felt.

Not anything close to frustrating but certainly much more tiring then you had been expecting, almost feeling as if you weren’t finding the time to do what other things you should’ve been. Staying knelt there, your hand on his front slowly moving to rest beside him, your chin propping your head up on your forearm and yet the sight before you struggled to match your thoughts.

Taking care of little Eddard wasn’t unpleasant, you adored having him with you and getting to watch him get used to having a real home. But another part of you would then glance to the men always hustling by in the castle, someone going this or that way, the work piled onto Jons desk and how he was always so busy. Filled to the brim his days were, and you had always been there to do what he couldn’t get to, or shouldn’t have too. You were his Queen, and so you acted it.

Now though, it wasn’t so simple. Your day was dedicated to the baby, it had to be. He was a newborn, brought into the world a month early and had to always be watched. That not even mentioning how you did not feel comfortable leaving him alone with people for long periods of time, perhaps your mother was the exception but none else. You didn’t trust that he would be alright being away from you or Jon for so long and he didn’t like it either. But that meant you had begun putting so much on Jons shoulders that you should’ve been lifting.

Slowly pushing up from your thighs to stand, you slowly paced over to his desk. Not messy it was, but not as organized as you knew he preferred it with so much to handle. One thing then the next, you found yourself growing that guilt inside with seeing everything he had to deal with and you had done nothing. You weren’t just his wife, you still were a Queen. And you had not been supporting him as such.

Ink scratching away at each paper, everything strictly organized to what you knew was preferential to Jons way of thinking. How frustrated he must have been you thought. Days now and he worked all alone, doing everything until so late and that was your fault. He would never say it, but it was. You had let yourself off too easy.

Jon worked harder then anyone, what right did you have to not push yourself to the exact same level?

In the back of your head you knew little Eddard was awake, but he had seemed content with staying comfortable in his cradle as you worked away. Brows narrowed almost in a scowl the more you worked, ignoring the strain it felt on your eyes to look only at the sights of paper, ink and candlelight for what must have been well over an hour if not two. Yesterday Jon had even said he wanted you by his side more, but what if the thing he truly meant is he wanted you back in your position as you used to be?

The door behind you both opened and closed without your notice, and yet it was the sudden high pitched yet excited nonsensical noise coming from the baby which drew your gaze to look at least over to him. Sounds of weapons being stored away with a clank indicated where he was in the room, but returning back your narrowed gaze kept writing instead of addressing it. Him arriving was not an excuse to stop.

Jon pulled down the wooden holdings, at the same instance the baby’s hands shot up asking either to grab or be picked up, his babbles a language Jon understood on his own. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, you could hear Jon lowly mumble, “I missed you too.” Releasing him a bit more from his swaddle, you could hear the grin in his voice alone as he responded to his son as if an average discussion was being had. “Were you good for her...now we both know that’s not true.”

You hadn’t at all seen Jons gaze try to flicker over to you as if to bring you into his little moment with the baby only to hesitate. A pause in voice and eyes as he took in your demeanour and what you were doing before turning back.

Pressing another kiss to his forehead Jon murmured, “Behave for me, alright? I need time with your mother too.” Whatever babbling noise came from your son, you hardly noticed until a warm figure came to your side. A hand running down the hair at the back of your head while he leaned against the desk beside you, without sacrificing being able to see you. Murmuring your name one, twice before Jon took the liberty to use his grip on your hair to tilt your head to look up at him, disturbing you only when your quill left the paper. “I asked how long have you been at this?”

Opening your mouth to respond, you found yourself closing it just as fast in a question Jon no doubt picked up on. How long had you been here? You thought no more then an hour, but if the light filtering in from Jons window in a tinted golden glow spoke anything it must be treading on multiple hours. Dipping it once more in the ink, you shook his grip off in a dismissal and continued on. “Just finishing up a few things while he was asleep, is all.”

If he believed that or not, Jon yet gave no indication. Leaning down to catch your eyes, Jons face twisted in something more troubled as you did not even seem to realize he wanted your attention more. Instead, his hand moved around to grip your chin, turning you to look back up at him. Gesturing with a nod to the work sitting out, Jon asked a little more firmly, “What’s all this?”

It seemed there was a disconnect between you both, the majority laying in your hands not really picking up that something only started to bother him right then, your tone light and without suspicion of his narrowing eyes. “Nothing that I wouldn’t normally help you with.” Gesturing to one pile and continuing as if everything was fine. “These are all written up, they only need your signature before being sent off-”

Calling your name a little more firmly, Jon leaned forward to invade your personal space, not yet letting go of you. “No, I meant why are you doing all of it?”

Your silence was genuine. Lips parted and unsure as to what was going on when you were doing what you were always supposed to have picked right back up for him. Stammering in a quiet until the correct words slowly and carefully formed as your gaze drifted away. “I’m not sure what you mean, I always handle these things for you. It’s just the-”

Shaking his head to cut off what specifics you had worked on, Jon now looked as confused as he was growing frustrated. “Darling, that’s not what I’m asking.” Genuine in asking what was he asking you then, Jon drifted again to let his hand cup your cheek, running his thumb along your jaw. “Why are you doing all of my work for me?”

It came out as naturally as it did instinctively. “I’m sorry-”

The sigh leaving Jon was followed by his hand dropping from you entirely. A grimace as he exasperatedly pinched the bridge of his nose before his equally as frustrated gaze melted into his voice and tone as if in scolding. “Why are you sorry?” He knew you didn’t have an answer to that, nor did he let you waffle about in silence trying to consider the right answer to placate him. “I didn’t leave all of this here, expecting you to do it for me. It’s my responsibility, not yours.”

Oh there was quite a gap in the air of understanding the more you attempted to find the point he was making. “I..I am aware you didn’t tell me to do it, but I always do things like this for you. It’s my responsibility to help you.”

Jons interjection increased in a tone you were misreading as annoyed with you. “I never asked you to do the work I created for myself, for me. You know that I didn’t.” You tried to defend yourself more confused inside that he didn’t need to order you to know what was expected of you. “What is it you think I expect you to do?”

In your own mind, in the world you knew and understood of women in your position you thought nothing of the way you said it. Jon however, just stared down at you in a disbelief for a good heavy number of seconds as if you had spoken it to him in a foreign language. “To raise your son, to help you rule?”

Standing up, Jon passed by you for merely a few paces. Turning around halfway, your hand gripping the top of the chair with something more wide eyed as he looked back to you, seemingly not at all considering your confusion. “What is this?” You didn’t respond, you didn’t know what he was trying to even ask and he knew it. “Think about what you just said, and tell me when you figure out what the problem with that is.”

Truly he hadn’t said it rude or in any condescending manner, but it clawed at your insides thinking it did while too notably misreading the expression on his face as directed towards you personally. Nothing you said stood out, you didn’t understand. The words spoken were a pure guess and both you and Jon knew that. “I shouldn’t be helping only when possible, I should always be helping you no matter what-”

Cutting yourself off, Jon turned from you pacing even further into the room as he ran his hand down his face. Now much further away, it was even harder to read his real intentions of emotion. Gesturing out to you and motioning to his desk with his eyes growing darker. “And you think this is the way I expect you to do that?” Clarifying that you didn’t say that directly, Jon cut you off almost the moment your mouth finished forming the letters of the end of your sentence. “Since when have I ever expected you to do all this for me?”

Something was wrong, and you felt that unwelcome heat growing behind your face at not knowing why or for what. “Jon, we’ve always shared work this way since before-”

“Since before you gave birth to our son.” Before you even had a chance to let that thought drag you down into it’s depths, Jon elaborated. “I didn’t want you forcing yourself to work into the night when it was just me and you. I certainly don’t expect you to stretch yourself thin when you’re caring for our baby on top of that.”

Taking pity in you, Jon sighed out before holding his hand out to you. Gracefully pulling you to your feet, Jon guided you close enough that both of his hands could settle firmly along your hips. Voice small against what his had been, but still not on the correct path. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-”

That time, Jons sigh was followed by his eyes closing shut. Forehead dropping to rest against yours but his tone was no longer filled with what you thought was annoyance. “I’m not upset, darling. And don’t apologize you didn’t do anything wrong.” Muttering gently that you didn’t feel it was that way, Jon lifted his head. Pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting back against you in a similar fashion as before. “How about you tell me where all this is coming from, because I know you’re not getting it from anything I said to you.”

When you found not an answer right away, Jon shifted both of you. Sitting you down on the furs at the edge of his bed, him now kneeling on the ground in front of you, both hands still by you sides up at your waist now. Grey eyes bright and wide looking up at you, with his hair pulled back making them stand out so perfectly in the hint of golden glow beside him. Your own hands sat in your lap, partially holding at the skirt of your dress in a manner indicating to Jon clearly that you were more on edge then he thought.

Your voice was quiet, trying to find a way to explain it to him without saying the wrong thing again. “I only was trying to say that, I’ve been taking care of the baby so much that I have barley helped you with anything. And last night you said you wanted me by your side more, I thought you meant by your side as in, doing the work with you.”

“With me or for me?”

As it so happened, your answer of apologizing for overstepping was not the right one still. Yet, it was not frustration or anger which came from Jon as a result. His head dropped a bit as a laugh freely left in a bit of a breathy manner. Eyes shining with his smile attached so handsome it was a cruel sight each time you always wanted to keep.

Lifting his head back up, Jon ran a hand that time down the side of your face, cupping your cheek with his grin still beaming with something holding no shred of frustration like before. “It’s a good thing you’re beautiful, because sometimes it is exhausting getting through that thick skull of yours.”

Face dropping flat only drew more of a laugh freely out of him, and smothered in you which he no doubt had caught you trying to hide. Dryly you let your eyes drag to the side of the room away from his grey ones.

Surging upwards, that time Jon caught both of your cheeks, bringing your flat expression to meet his grinning one to press his lips to yours. Nothing needing, but keeping you against him in something more deep then chaste alone, but not guiding you enough into anything to work you up too much with. Just his soft lips against yours taking what breath you had for himself, as you’d always chose to.

Just barley pulling away, you could feel his lips brushing yours with every word. Your hands resting along his shoulders as if trying to dig into the muscle for him. “I’ve never met a woman more stubborn then you.” Asking with a bit more light in your tone, asking if that was an insult or not, Jon just pulled you right back to his lips. “Yes.”

You pulled free that time as your head dropped, a laugh slipping through pulling a softer one from Jon. Running a hand down your hair again, Jon nudged your nose with his to gain your attention. Eyes dark but not angry or annoyed as you previously feared. “You gave birth what? Nearly two weeks ago? And for six months before that I dragged you all through the far North almost your entire pregnancy. I almost lost you twice after you gave birth, and we get home only to realize we still have to watch our backs.”

The tips of your fingers reached out, scratching gentle against the facial hair coarse against his jaw. “Sometimes you say things and I don’t always understand that they mean something different then what I thought. You said you wanted me by your side more, and because we already spent so many hours apart today I thought that you meant you wanted me doing my equal share of the work like we used to.”

Jon only nudged your nose gently again, that time not quite moving away as he kept you there in the near nuzzling like gesture, his breath warm as it draped across your skin. “Right now, you’re duty is to be my wife. To take care of yourself, and help raise our son.” The hand on the back of your hair gripping you a little firmly as if to grab your attention further. “Not my son, our son. Everything you went through to bring him into this world, darling. I don’t want to hear you putting yourself down by putting your importance here as less then me.”

Only a gentle murmur as your hands still toyed across his shoulders. “I didn’t want you to think I don’t want to help you.” Rather then addressing it, Jon only brought your lips back to his.

Barley managing words through each chase of your lips he pursued when he himself tried to pull back. “Right now, our son needs you more then he needs me. I never had a chance to be with my mother when I was his age, I don’t ever want to take that from him or you.” Nodding, you didn’t say anything further, nor did you need too. As if your lack of protest sometimes spoke better of your understanding then words spoken in the air. “I’m happy dealing with all of this, if it means I know you’re taking care of yourself. But I’ll make myself clear this time, even if you have the baby, I want you in more of my meetings from now on. You take care of him, and I’ll feel better having you by my side. But that’s all I expect right now.”

Not yet any response to him directly, your eyes opened, peeling to the side to the sound of a small sound you were growing familiar with. The fussing of a grumpy wolf pup. “I have two needy wolves vying for my time now, I can’t disappoint either of them, can I?”

Jon chose to go get him, the mumblings spoken to his son as he picked him up and you felt such a shine of sunlight sparkling in your heart at how Jon truly had a son that is just like him. You almost couldn’t wait for a few more years to pass, you wanted so much to see right now how close they would both be the older he got. Sitting back on the bed by your side, Jon only moved an arm enough to tug you closer to him. Your head without thought resting more down against his shoulder, your own hand letting go of your dresses skirt.

Dancing across little Eddard’s front as he right back made those same motions being grabby while a smile came about all three of you. Jons gaze being swapped between you and the baby, the sight more then either of you could’ve ever dreamt of to have with one another. Leaning more into your hair, Jon rasped lowly in your ear enough you were sure he may have been able to feel the slight shiver down your spine. “We have enough going on, don’t add to it by worrying I expect more of you then what you’re already doing.”

Little Eddard toying against the wrapping now fresh once more around your palms, tone a little distant but not so out of the room that you felt disconnected from the present. “And if this starts getting worse again?” You needn’t elaborate, you could all but feel Jons heavy gaze drifting towards the wrappings.

“None of what I said about this changed. Whatever all of this means, it isn’t just you anymore. We take it slowly, but I’m not watching you get worse trying to understand it.” Nodding gently, as the baby begun to settle better with both of you there, so did you turning more to hid away a bit in Jons neck. Feeling him turn his head enough to nuzzle against the top of yours as he whispered gently. “I won’t tell you to stay out of it, but for right now let me handle Littlefinger.”

Another small nod, your voice was apprehensive. “And Sansa?”

But Jon too was firm. “Right now, her problem is with me. I have to be the one to handle it.” Asking gently if he truly thinks Sansa distrusted him the way he suspected, Jon did not waver. “I know she does. But she has to accept just because she doesn’t understand you and me, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. If I could change the way I am with you, I would. But I can’t.” Arguing there was nothing wrong with the way he treated you, you sensed that hesitation. But also, the sense Jon today did not wish to discuss it. Which was fine with you for now, that one was at his pace, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t make him feel more at ease over it.

Murmuring for him to let you take the baby, you watched his eyes drift closed just as you picked him up to lay him back down, the amount the little one needed sleep as active as he had been all day. You turned, and that time prompted Jon to stand. Slinking in behind him, you only just took off enough layers from him that his softer undershirt remainder. Beckoning him to sit right back down, you took an easy spot up on the bed behind.

Just as Jon asked what you thought you were doing, did you reach up to his shoulders, tense as anything. Digging deep into the muscles, within an instant no doubt his head dropped with a grunt leaving from deep in his chest. “I’ll always find ways to take care of you to, you know.” Muttering your name almost in a not very impactful warning, you continued on kneading into his muscles until they relax and massaged the remainder until you moved along his shoulders to more of his back. “We both take care of the baby, you take care of me. Someone has to take care of you, and I’m your wife. Which means, yes, it is my responsibility.”

A small huffing laugh left him, muttering low and a bit slurring together the further into leaning back into your touch he got. “Is there even a point trying to argue this anymore?” Your answer only a short no, and that huff turned far more into a laugh you could feel under your palms. “We’re both too stubborn for own own good.”

Reaching forward, your lips found his cheek almost pressing there gently to his suprise. Moving back to behind him just as you caught sight of Jon intending to turn around to try and kiss you much more urgently, and the frown attached to his face now a symbol of the grumpiness which came from not getting it. Slowly however, you let one of your hands drift up to his shoulder again only to make your own path sinking down into the open top of his shirt.

Grey eyes fluttering closed as he leaned back into you much more noticeably that time, you let your hand drift down his firm torso over to his heart. Your fingertips tracing over the deep wound never to be healed but yet the strong beating underneath it spoke of the most unusual of truths. Reaching behind, you read his ask without needing to be told.

Letting your other stop its work, Jon brought you closer to drape across his back as he tugged your other hand up to his lips. Pressing a kiss firmly to your hand and keeping a hold on it. “Do you really want to do something for me?” Your nod was nothing but genuine and innocent, yet not even did you quite yet register the lower bass vibrating through into your chest as he spoke. Jons other hand reaching up under the end of his shirt to grab at yours, pulling it slowly but with a purpose downwards to his hips.

Glancing back as much as he could, your breathing picked up as they flickered over what he could manage to see of you. Your voice something almost meek or unsure. “You want me to..”

Brows narrowed slightly, Jon almost teased unfairly. “Everything we’ve done, and this makes you nervous?” Your nod again was only innocent, were Jons intentions innocent he may have laughed. Instead the deep exhale only made your blood burn a little hotter. That time, Jon only shifted long enough to rest both of your hands down by his hips, the laces of his breeches toying at the edges of your finger tips. “Come on.”

Biting down on your tongue roughly, you willed yourself to keep the air calm and not doubt what he was asking. Out of anything you had the least understanding of what to do here, but Jon rested both of his own hands against the fur beside him. One lace then the other, any other man would’ve accused you of taking this long to tease or put a show on. But Jon let you go at the slow pace knowing it was simply what you were comfortable with.

Enough room for your hand to slink in, only an exhale left Jon as you did so but otherwise remained steady as he looked over his shoulder at you with a steadily darkening gaze. Wrapping a hand around his cock, already rather hard, a whimper nearly left you much to Jons dismay at you covering it up at the fact that you couldn’t even wrap your whole hand around him. How thick his cock was and you never got used to how intimidating it could be.

But you held at his hip to steady yourself, trying to move gently. Grip loose, and nothing but light strokes inhibited by the clothes in your way but he made you work around it. He didn’t make it easy for you. Just a husk of a voice drawing your senses into something hazy as he muttered, “Tighter. Grip me tighter, darling. You know that.” Jon inhaled deeply as you did, his cock twitching somewhat in your hand as you tried to continue. Barley moving far from the base of his cock, but now tighter in holding him you were still slow and kind, Jons head shaking with a voice any but you would mistaken for annoyed. “Think about how rough I am with you.” Barley did you pick up the pace, and that time an order came out almost in a growl. “You’re nowhere near close to how tight your cunt is around me.”

Again you tried to follow his instructions, and each time he let you stroke up and down his cock until a rising animal inside Jon once more reared its feral head. Telling you to pull him out, both of your hands had to do so. You always were so gentle with his cock as if he didn’t fuck you with it until you would pass out. As if you were incapable of being anything close to rough with him, and it only made Jon throb in your hand thinking about it.

The moment his thick length was out for your eyes widening and audible swallow, Jon sent a hand down to cover yours. His head whipping back to meet your surprised ones almost jumping back, the glare in his eyes took up so much space no grey remained underneath the black as he held your hand so tightly around his cock you could almost feel the blood rushing through him under your palms. “I fucked your ass until you cried for me, and you still do this.” It truly felt like his words did not match the angry looking darkness staring back to you. “I’ve tied you up and left you bruised and you still touch me like I’m the delicate one.”

It wasn’t an accusation but you felt lost for an answer as he started to move your hand with his own. Rougher strokes, faster and not even allowing you to ease the raw feeling by running your hands over where seed leaked from the tip of his cock. “I was too afraid to try and do things like this for you before, now more then ever someone should be gentle with you.” Jon muttered as his cock throbbed in your hand, teeth gritting as he watched his much larger hand almost hide yours completely against his thick length, that he didn’t treat you gently but your words made that growl in his chest come out as his head dropped back a bit. “I want you to do whatever you want when you have me in your bed, you deserve to have that much.”

Jons eyes fluttered shut as you diligently followed the pace he kept your hand moving up and down his cock at. As if he were alone, he was getting you to stroke him the rougher way he would handle himself. Only a fluster rose in your chest at a rather indecent thought, that before your time together now, you had never known just how much he would get himself off each night, and how often it was apparently about you.

Had you both been people that were allowed to be together back then, would Jon have truly stopped that rain filled night where he kissed you. He had you alone, wet from the downpour of rain in the sky and his lips urgently attached to yours pinning you against a tree. How far would he have taken it, had Jon felt the severity of the animalistic instincts he harboured for you now? Even more improper you thought, how far would you have been happy to let him take it with you?

Jon had been too unsure back then together to let you try it, but in another world where he was truly the wolf then as the one in front of you today, what sight would it have been? Shoving you down to your knees, nowhere to go and the sounds of your mouth taking his cock deep smothered by the rain but not hidden from his dark eyes.

But you weren’t the only one with images in your head, yanking your hand from his cock suddenly, Jon turned on you in an instant. Shoving you higher up the bed and roughly forcing you flat on your back. Shoving the skirt of your dress up enough he yanked your thigh high up on his hip, leaning over you stretching you out more and more indecently as if to let his cock run against your core, growing wetter and wetter at the feeling.

His other hand was pressed into the fur beside your head as he looked down at you with such a raw need that his eyes almost looked that of a wild animal. His voice rasping with a scratch against it, a growl asking for release. “And if I want you on your hands and knees?” Your eyes were wide, almost unfairly innocent as your hands reached up to his shoulders, Jon did not blink. “If I flipped you over now, dragged you back on my cock, show you how a wolf breeds his mate, you’d want that?”

Your nod almost did him in. You did not do anything but increase your breathing to match your racing heart blazing inside your torso, but to Jon it was torture. You answered his depravity with such innocence every single time. Voice light and breathy gazing up at him with not even lust, but an adoration against his own lecherous thoughts. “I promise, anything.”

Jons breathing was almost in heaves, his muscles tense looking down at you as if seconds away from ripping your clothes off with his bare hands to tear open the fabric for good. Dragging his eyes down your body and back up, tilting his head as if to implore you to make him proceed with caution. Your name much sweeter on his lips then his gaze and touch. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t keep giving me permission to do all of this. I-” That time he swallowed roughly, leaning his forehead down to yours, the hand beside you now cupping your hair at the back of your head to keep you where he needed. Rasp still rough but much more of a whisper against your skin. “I was only born because his men didn’t stop Rhaegar from doing whatever he wanted. You can’t keep letting me act like that with you, you shouldn’t let me treat you this way.”

Nudging up to run your nose brushing against his, a barley there kiss left to his lips as you cupped his cheeks. “This is nothing like that, you know this. You aren’t him just because you feel more passionate about your wife then other men.”

Shaking his head, it was as if he could entirely ignore how hard he still was against you. “One of Eurons men said something to me after they took you. That they were surprised I hadn’t locked you away in a tower so other men wouldn’t touch you.” Just as you had begun assuring him with a soothing comfort that someone else saying it didn’t mean anything, did Jon cut you off with something struggling inside his own self admitting it. “They aren’t wrong.” Pulling back to look you better in the eye, he was as intense as he was bright in his eyes looking down at you. “Sometimes I do want that. Tie you up, lock you away. Anything to stop the world always trying to take you away from me. Hide you away from everyone else because I don’t know how else to protect you.”

The words he said were one thing, yet another was who he was. Had Ramsay spoken such words to you, if Euron ever did now, you’d be filled with that very terror of a past you had only seen in dreams of nonsense. Yet, not a shred of that fear existed in you looking at Jon. Anything that which would terrify you with other men, Jon was the exception. Perhaps it was the wrong way to encourage it, but you were nothing but genuine. Thumb running over his cheek. “And I’d still love you.”

One leg still high on his hip, Jon nearly tore at your dress. The fabric ripping at a seam along it’s edge as he yanked it up, shoving your other leg wide. Both of you nearly on one side of the bed more to the point it almost obscenely hovered in the air with nowhere to go. Jon didn’t bother undressing any further, the hand on your leg moved to your hair only long enough to force you up to his lips in the same moment he pushed deep inside of you.

The kiss hardly gotten off the ground when he pulled back, a snarl growling from him as he sunk as deep as he could inside of you. The stretch had you gasp, but also a bit of pain mixed in. You weren’t nearly as wet as Jon would’ve prepared you to be, and yet that pained burned inside your core with something in need. Twisting and turning like a coil, as if however you were now, was all you truly needed to take such a thick size.

Forcing your leg higher up his side, he left your hair to hold open your other leg wide. Dark eyes stared down at you, barley even blinking as he took no time to build you up. Pulling only halfway out, Jon roughly thrusted back inside of you, drawing a blatant cry from your lips, head falling back against his pillow as he did it again and again.

Your leg hurt from how wide and strained he held it wide, but his cock sunk so deep every instance, and yet your already tight walls clenched more and more around him begging not to leave. The pain bled into your veins, floating across your body in a sting and yet the growing wetness you covered him with masked the part of it which would be too much. Your heart floating inside of you as it raced to seek out breath your lungs did not have.

Jon so roughly pounded inside of you, staring down with dark eyes near black and a grunt trapped in his chest the more and more he went. Harder and harder no doubt tears had welled in your eyes, the sight alone drawing a growl out. “Fuck..”

Pushing your leg on his hip wide against the other side of the bed, Jon let both go as he reached up to your dress. The laces attached to the front hardly making it to halfway undone before Jon roughly grasped at the fabric and just tore it with a hiss. Hovering over you more, his eyes stared down now at your breasts moving as much as he fucked into you with force. Were his own clothes not in the way, the sound would’ve echoed off the walls and out the window for any to hear. Husking out as he dragged his eyes from your breasts to your eyes again, “I know they’re still sensitive right now,” One again Jon grabbed your legs, kneeling up straighter as he shoved them wide again, ignoring any pain the stretch might have put you in because he was so utterly deep inside your soaking cunt. “The way I love you isn’t normal, I know that. It never has been, but I can’t change that and I don’t want to scare you away.”

He could not do this as he dragged against your sensitive walls each slide of his cock deeper and deeper as if you were designed by the gods to fit him in perfection, created after Jon so that you could be made to fit everything about him and only him. That maybe you had always existed for him, it was always him your purpose was supposed to be, and death only intertwined you both together in a way that would never separate that connection again.

Wrapping a hand around to the back of his neck, your eyes hooded, lips parted as small noises of need kept leaving you as the sound of how wet you were each time his cock slid inside of you filled the air beyond your need of sound. “Never,” You had so little air to give and it all drenched into your voice like a siren in his ears. “I belong to you, I’ll always belong to you..”

Truly, it was something of a fight. The man inside of Jon desperate to kiss you and assure you that he’s always belonged to you too, but the animal in him, the predator pounding his cock into your walls which never once even thought to resist him, said something much more possessive. One which spilled from his lips, hardly even noticing to Jon that he said them aloud. “The moment I laid eyes on you, you belonged to me, and I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me. Anyone.” Rambling further, Jon shifted so that he could stay atop you, mounting you as your feet pressed against the furs at each of his sides, arms wrapped around him as he held your face in his neck by a grip on your hair, the other grasping at his headboard, the leverage forcing his cock roughly inside of you to the point Jon would later be able to see his own nails having carved into the wood. “You were born for me, made for me- fuck I’ll never let you go,”

Neither of you really heard what he said, Jon pounding so deep inside of you, the feeling no doubt going to make standing delicate. You knew already you would be able to feel his cock sliding in and out of you so perfectly until he finally would fill you again next. Jon hid in your hair as he held you to hide his neck, your words somehow sweet and soothing as if he had spoken nothing terrifyingly depraved. “I love you.”

Jon could hardly give himself the space to pull you back to look at him before he captured your lips, kissing you so deeply that the second your lips even somewhat gave space he slid his tongue inside of your mouth. Brushing with a greed to taste you as he would anywhere else he wanted to feast, not even able to pull himself from your kiss long enough to say it back as he was so desperate too. He needed your lips more then he needed to tell you how much he loved you back.

Legs at his sides shaking, Jon could sense your end was racing towards you. Not as roughly, but Jons hips fucked into yours faster and faster. Forcing your orgasm sooner and sooner, he needed to feel you cum around his cock. Unable to even move back with his pace, you had no choice. Laying back in his kiss, legs spread wide and just taking it when his cock dragged again and again over such a perfect spot that you nearly tore from his kiss. Jon only pressed your head further into the bed to keep you to him the whine singing into his mouth.

One pound, another and another, rougher then the last if his skin was bare as yours, it would’ve sounded almost on the edge of violent. But sinking deeply, Jon never ceased even as his orgasm came over him during the middle of your own.

An ankle wrapping around his calf as if to beg him closer, you felt Jons cock throbbing with a growl vibrating against your front before you were suddenly filled with a hot feeling. Fucking so steadily in and out now that both of you had so thoroughly soaked your core, Jons seed spilled inside of you with thick spurts one after another as if to fill you as long as he was still hard.

None of it even slightly could escape, his cock so thick inside of you that he knew if he did this every single day, sooner or later your body would be ready to get pregnant again. Jon filled you over and over as your head grew dizzy even in his arms by the time his hips slowed. His cock still deep inside of you as your hearts raced. Jons head dropped, resting against your forehead, as you both barley were coming down.

If the gods were cruel, and they were, they had planned this just to humiliate you. But the guards weren’t at the door, and with it closed, that typically meant that you were likely in there. Guards stayed outside the door to protect the King, you preferred your own leave you be. So slipping in quietly, there was no mistakening what this was, nor the roughness of the scene having been walked in on.

The gasp of shock was enough, the sudden rise Jon moved from your front, but to wrapping an arm around your front to all but shove you to hide your bare form. His eyes formed in a significant glare automatically and hardly found it within him to ease up upon realizing what happened. His voice tore through your ear in a husk, a breathless rasp seeped with something that was much more detectable as anger. “Sansa-”

You hidden in his front, Jon could sense the humiliation within you rise at being caught, as if you had done something wrong. It was not the time nor the place, but Jon certainly didn’t want you feeling embarrassed that people knew he took you as such. He wanted to throw away that guilt women like your septa growing up had taught you to be ashamed of. But moments like this did not help.

Sansa stood still somewhat by the door with eyes wide looking at the fire by the wall. Her voice a clear high pitched embarrassment in a whole other manner but just as stammering of a strong wish to turn the time back a few minutes and knock first. “The door was unlocked,” Jon could feel you practically trying to melt away from this situation, your name being the next thing Sansa said. “I thought she was alone, I was looking for her.”

Looking down to you, and then trying to look to the other side where clearly the baby had been awoken by the sudden shift in the air and raising of voices. Jon knew there really was no hiding what she walked in on, a hand tucking himself back in as the other prompted you to move a bit, Sansa turning around now facing the other direction with a whirlwind of regret for just this once deciding she didn’t care to abide to boundaries.

She had no idea what was worse, walking in on her own brother having sex with his wife, or laying in bed in the Vale forced to endure her aunts insufferable screaming and grunting on her wedding night.

Already knowing Jon was modestly dressed, he mostly tied the laces of his breeches properly with a jaw clenched in tense frustration before grabbing something for you to wear. Turning you to face him as he slid the sleeves down your arms, his eyes sought out yours as he tightened the laces at the front. An apology ripe in his gaze for not locking his door. Though you would’ve argued that he hadn’t come in for that intent.

Turning you once more so your back was to him, Jon gently moved your hair to lay in front of you gathered to one shoulder, now doing the final ties at the back. His voice truly stern in a manner that sounded just like when their father was as frustrated with one of them, also using it as an indication she could turn back around. “What was so important you couldn’t stop to knock?”

Facing you both once more, it was clear now that a bit of the embarrassment had subsided in most parties, save for you Jon knew, considering you had just stood in a silence letting him take charge of the conversation. Once more, there it was, plain as day on his little sisters face a distrust that he hated that it conflicted with his own struggle inside presently. Her throat clearing a bit, Sansa stuck to a more diplomatic route then perhaps she had intended on the walk over, indicating to you. “I wanted to talk to you.”

To you both, Jon spoke for you as there was a large pit in your stomach feeling ill for being walked in on in such a manner that you were too embarrassed to speak, trusting Jon knew your words for you, which he did. To Sansa though, Jon was aware it appeared as if he wasn’t allowing you to speak for yourself. “About what?”

Eyes flickered between both of you, Jon finally finishing your dresses laces. Palms smoothing down your upper arms, an unspoken gesture to calm yourself down, knowing the whiplash of such an intense, unplanned encounter was not clashing well with having to shift to everything being normal without any time to come back down to your head properly. Sansa though, didn’t see it that way even if she chose to address on but glance at you as well. “There were just things on my mind I wanted to talk to her about.” Asking what things in a gruff manner, it did stand out to Sansa how much like their fathers short tone Jon reminded her of. “About Petyr.”

Jon read the lie and she knew it. She wanted to talk to you alone about Jon. But as unfortunate of a time as it was, he may as well get it out there. But not quite yet, or at least, not this specific part. Talking about Jon was too talking about Petyr Baelish but he was going to address one alone before the other together. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes turned to meet as if reading his mind seeking you out.

Leaning down, Jon pressed a lingering, but chaste kiss to the side of your head. “Do me a favour, go find where Arya and Bran are and bring them to Wolkans study.” Your eyes narrowed, the silence a question and his nod the answer, you knew it was not a dismissal. Asking if he wished for you to take the baby, Jon ran his hand up and down your arm more. “I’ve got him.” Hesitating as you were to walk passed, Jon picked it up. Your head was a mess no doubt, he had been rough and spoken rough and sending you away this soon was confusing your ability to reclaim your senses as normal. Pulling you back to him, Jon captured your lips in a small kiss, murmuring finally back, knowing only you’d hear it. “I love you.”

Nudging you to move, he could imagine the uncertain, tight lipped smile you attempted to give Sansa as she watched you walk out of the door. Jon moving towards his sons bed, he reached a hand down, pressing gentle against his front with brighter eyes and a smile hinting on his lips already calming whatever building distress little Eddard had picked up on in the room.

His tone was more commanding of authority then Sansa expected. It felt no doubt, more like she was speaking to the King rather then her older brother as he didn’t even look up from his son to speak. “We do need to talk about him, and you. All of us. But this needs to be brought out into the open.” She didn’t say a word. Jon lifted his head up to meet her eyes with a more serious narrowing then he just had before, prompting her to be the one to say it. “Say it. Whatever it is you’re thinking, Sansa, just say it.”

One could describe it as a stare off, nothing in the air between glares that were not the crackling of the fire and small tender sounds from the baby Jon stood beside. Grey and blue with something that had been brewing for days and days now. Jon had once tried to talk to her about this, but she wanted to argue, so he shut it down before it got out of hand. Then Sansa continued to escalate things by arguing with him publicly in front of his men at every chance. But this was something he wouldn’t ignore.

Jon had his insecurities, he held his fears of turning into the blood father he never wanted, but he knew without any doubt he was not mistreating you the way Sansa was painting him to be. He was certainly not using you to be King in the North.

By the time Sansa found the words to spit it out, both knew this would escalate again, and part of Jon wished he had told you to take little Eddard with you. Knowing he did not like losing his temper around him. But she now alone in the room, found the right time to say it in a very spitting manner. “I wasn’t brought up the same as you and Robb were, but even I know our father didn’t raise you to act like this.” Pressing her on what specifically, Jon almost regretted it considering how quickly he felt his temper flaring up as she said your name. “The way you treat her-”

Already Jons voice raised in an anger. “You mean the way I treat my wife?”

Sansa’s jaw twitched, something he knew what she was trying to not say but he could see it clear as day as she talked around it. “I’ve known her almost as long as you have, you know. You’re not the only one here who cares about her well being.” Jon had interjected, something to the subject of he’s never claimed otherwise but Sansa had other idea. “No, you haven’t. I’m claiming it.” Pressing her again on what, “Claiming you don’t really care about her well being.”

Keep it pushed down, Jon thought. He truly did not want to get this angry at his own sister but bringing you up was always going to be a subject that had Jon a bit touched. Through an even tone of gritting teeth did Jon force himself to not let the worst of his impulsive temper get to him. “No offence, Sansa, but you have no idea the thing’s I’ve done to protect her. To keep her safe, to take care of her.”

Stepping forward, Sansa waved dramatically over to the bed were the fur was clearly still rustled by specific activities as she too raised her own voice. “By what? Pinning her to your bed so she can’t leave like you’re a dog?”

Not to her fault, but Sansa naturally had not a single clue why Jon stared at her in quite an enraged manner that spoke a little more surprisingly to her, that Jon was withholding something quite serious inside. His words low and carefully chosen as he spoke them slowly. Taking his hand from his sons bed, hoping he understood Jon didn’t want that anger near him. “The way I spend time with her, isn’t for you to start speculating over. You walked in on something you shouldn’t have, and you’re the one assuming things without having any idea what you’re talking about.”

Moving closer to meet her more in the middle of the room, nothing of their glares changed, save that Jon held an eerily unblinking stare towards her as she spoke. Now attempting to match his volume at a minimum. “The last time I saw you, you were leaving for the Wall after we both watched her marry Robb. Then I finally come home after Robb’s dead, I find out she’s alive, and you’ve left the Wall to come here, call yourself King, and marry her.” She was smart, leaving the fact of giving you a child was part of her original issue, but pressing that with the baby in question in the room at least to her, felt like an inappropriate part. “And everytime I see you with her, you’re always all over her. Trying to seduce her. What am I supposed to think?”

Breathing deeply in and back out, Jon reminded himself. If their father never spoke to him in that kind of anger, he wasn’t going to start doing it here with his little sister. But Jon also had to be careful what he approached, and how to unweave this web of endless falsehoods that had been placed into her head about him. “The only times you’ve seen me with her in that manner is when you’ve walked in on it, or spied on us when you knew you weren’t supposed to.” It said a lot to Jon that she had no rebuttal to that. “You may not understand my relationship with her, but that doesn’t mean you get to start judging me for it without any context. I can’t tell you what to think, but I will tell you that jumping to the worst conclusion isn’t fair. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to her.”

Motioning to her almost as if he were talking down an animal, Jon continued before giving her a chance. “If you think I don’t know what he’s been saying to you, you’re wrong. I know exactly what he’s been telling you about me.” Asking more on the quiet side how he knew, Jon let some of that anger go. More wide eyes pleading with her to just listen to him about this for once now that they were both adults. “Because people have been saying those things about me for my whole life. I’m a bastard, a walking reminder of sin and lies all because of a birth I had no control over. Highborns get told to look out for people like me, because I’ll just seduce and manipulate someone into giving me what I want. People hear what my surname is, and judge me because they already decided I can’t be trusted.”

If it was guilt sitting on Sansa’s face, he didn’t go out of his way to point it out. Nor how she remained rather quiet in her slow formed attempt at any kind of fair retort. “You’re my brother, I do trust you-”

Jon didn’t yell, if anything his voice lowered to more of an exasperation, something tired and knowing and finished with hearing that over and over. “You don’t. If you trusted me, you wouldn’t be standing here accusing me of using the woman I love for a title I never asked for.” Sansa blinked away multiple times whatever she was considering saying. “I can’t change what happened, or what Robb decided. I can’t even tell you why. I wasn’t there.” Your name came next from his mouth. “But she was. And instead of asking her why she and Robb did what they did about his crown, you’re blaming me. And choosing to accuse me of using her for my benefit, when I’m the one who owes everything to her. Including my life. I’m sorry you’re hurt, and I’m sorry you came back for something you didn’t know was already decided could never be yours.”

Closing the gap between them, part of Jon wondered if his sister had always been this noticeably tall. They almost didn’t even stand eye to eye, in fact she was a breath taller now. Or maybe she always was this tall, but too he wouldn’t have known that. Before this past week, Jon wouldn’t have been able to even say the last time he and Sansa spoke just the two of them. Jon felt like he didn’t even know her, but he had no way to even try as long as she was ready to paint him out to be something he wasn’t.

In truth, it was likely the most honest Sansa had been since that night she sought you out by the glass gardens, even if it seemed not even Jon knew of that night. You had kept it to yourself as long as she wanted it to be just between you. But here of all places, Sansa let herself just say what was truly on her mind. “Sometimes I don’t now if I really came home. Or if I’m still just a liar doing whatever Petyr tells me because I don’t know what else do to anymore.”

Head shaking the slightest, Jon stepped closer as his tone lowered. Were he to ask in that moment, Sansa could’ve pinned exactly who Jons demeanour reminded her of so vividly it took her off guard.

“If it must be done, I will do it myself.”

The exasperation and defeat once the anger had simmered out, realizing that nothing was as simple as he had thought it would be, and how no matter what being said or done would hurt her, her father never stood forth to kill Lady because he wanted to. He did it because allowing an outsider to so strongly dictate what happened in his family was not something he’d allow. She had rarely considered how much of their father Jon was like, but in that moment, it was like looking at a darker haired version of Ned Stark.

Speaking softer, but still with that heavy weight behind of something bigger then just this argument weighing him down came through. Jon only hoping some of this was sinking in over the words of people like Littlefinger. “I know you’ve been through too much, you, Arya, Bran, all of you lost your chance to still be children after father died. But you’re still a Stark, and you’re my sister. Winter is coming and something more dangerous is coming with it then fighting over who gets to be crowned what. But I can’t even try to protect you from that, or anyone if you keep doing this. He’s not helping you because he wants whats best for you. He wants you to think I’m using her, to hide the fact that he’s using you.”

Eyes wider, something more human in them then he’d seen in days, or perhaps years in her. The voice speaking nothing like the woman who came back, but much more the naive girl who left years ago. “I don’t know if I’ve ever trusted him, but I had no choice.”

Jon was firm, but still that familiar comfort she recalled in their father as Jon held her arms to focus her to look at him properly. “I won’t tell you what to do, but before you decide what you really want, you need to hear the truth. The full truth about who he really is. He’s a dangerous man-”

“I already know.” Looking up to Jons confusion, he could see something much like what he felt just then. A truth that she hadn’t seen coming, but this time he was the unknown party. “I know he’s dangerous. And I know why.”

As it turned out, Sansa’s why was not anywhere near close to yours and Jon why.

Sitting at the head of the table, Sansa had relayed the story. Arya, Bran and Jon all taking it in with the same understanding between them, and the same questions of why. The day Joffery had been poisoned, Ser Dontos whisking her away to something he called safety. Only to get to the ominous ship and slowly put together the truth of what Petyr Baelish had done and the lengths he went to frame it otherwise. Maester Wolkan helped direct the discussion, he and Jon both sharing the same glances of trying to piece together where this all fit into what they already knew. “He had me keep the poison without knowing it, and already knowing he was helping me escape he must have known too they’d blame me.”

Arya leaned forward with numerous questions of her own, the present one being the same on her brothers minds as well. “But if they arrested Tyrion Lannister right away, then he would’ve also assumed they’d blame him, since you running makes him look more guilty.”

“Like he was covering for her to escape.” Jon added of his own, his own eyes you felt glancing to you at the other end away from everyone else. Your pacing had gotten to the point you needed someone to take the baby for you because now you were the one who couldn’t settle. Something was eating at you this entire story.

You could believe Petyr Baelish had the resources to kill Joffery, and you knew why. It was the same why to the question of his betrayal of you and Ned Stark that day in the throne room. A man with seemingly no motive is a man they never expect. Until you thought darkly, until he plays that card too many times.

If your time with the Seaworths had taught you anything about gambling, and gods know Ser Davos’s eldest son Allard certainly spent much time teaching you to gamble when out at sea, you knew the best cards could only ever be played once. Otherwise the pattern be recognized too often. How many times now had Petyr Baelish played that card of feigning ignorance of his own betrayal. First yourself and Ned Stark, tricking Catelyn into betraying Robb, betraying Sansa herself by lying about his involvement in the attempt on your life.

But there was one element that kept picking at your brain. One person that came up again and again in Littlefingers lies and something stood out to you without knowing what. Your palms under the wrappings almost felt as if they were bleeding again, the feeling of the blade Catelyn fought against to save Brans life. The events played after were ones no one was left alive here to know but you, you and-

The moment the thought came to you, your head rose up slowly. Something washing through your veins in a realization so stunning you hadn’t even felt it’s cold take over the room and direct attention to you.

Your lips parted the moment it you regained your senses to focus on it, and yet the very second your eyes looked to Brans, to neither of your controlling, did yours and his both turn white.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #asoiaf #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire

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tsuraiwrites · 2 years ago

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✨weekly(ish) fic roundup✨

another round of fics I found especially good reads, as @little--abyss and I were talking about secondary curation recently! please check these out and leave a comment and kudos for the wonderful authors.

Assassin’s Creed

The White Aster of Masyaf - alaïr ibn-la’ahad/desmond miles, nsfw complete

And, instead of dying after using the device back in the Grand Temple, Desmond now had first-row seat in the tragic play that was Altaïr’s life in the Levantine Brotherhood.

Oh. And he gets to play the part of the doomed younger brother of Malik Al-Sayf, Kadar Al-Sayf.

BNHA

Oracle - midoriya izuku/shinsou hitoshi wip

Midoriya Izuku always wanted to have a quirk, to be a hero, to make a change.

Until he realizes he did do all that once, a lifetime ago, and paid for it with his life.

(In which Izuku's quirk allows him to remember his past life and it becomes his driving force to become a hero and mend the mistakes of the people from his past.)

Death Note

no man is worth dying for - gen wip with self-insert amane misa

Would there be consequences? Yes. Was it selfish? Perhaps. Did she care? No, because she refuses to lay there motionlessly and let herself die for a man whose God-complex got out of control.

Amane Misa or not, voices in her head or not, she was doing this reincarnation thing her way.

Dragon Age

FIRE IN HER MOUTH - female inquisitor/cassandra pentaghast wip

Former Ostwick Mage Olivia comes from a life of disturbing secrets and devastating loss. Once the daughter of an up-and-coming Orlesian house, her abilities led to a life of ostracized irrelevance to both her nation and her family. Years later, tensions in Thedas between Mages and Andrastian Orders have come to a head. The perfect setting, it seems, for a corrupted Tevinter Magister to stake his claim of chaos. By virtue of rotten luck Olivia finds herself thrust in his path, imbuing her with magic beyond her imagination. Now, she must learn to balance her own hunger for justice with those of the world's most mistreated, as leader of the reborn Inquisition.

Ithelan - male lavellan/omc, oc-insert wip

A struggling college student finds himself dropped in a dungeon in the thick of all things Inquisition with no memory of how he got there. Now he has pointed ears and too many tattoos and maybe has the chance to help. He has no idea what he's doing but he loves Thedas, and maybe Thedas will love him too.

Lyrium Addled - anders/fenris soulbond wip

After a desperate healing attempt goes haywire, Anders and Fenris try to get to the bottom of what caused the chaotic reaction. Between the phantom pains from non-existent wounds, and the sudden concern for each other's safety, they find themselves with an abundance of questions and nobody to answer them.

Not Another Dragon Age FanFic (The Lone Wolf Cries) - male lavellan/solas wip

Kieran finds himself suddenly transported to Thedas, and vows to keep a close eye on the Dread Wolf to stop him from betraying them once again.

As he finds out, a 'close eye' unfortunately means actually being close - and it doesn't help that the game's timeline is changing, either.

Over the Sea to the Clouds Above - female cousland-as-inquisitor/leliana wip, an absolute delight to read so far

Because she loved her sister dearly, Niamh set aside her own happiness, watching from afar as Leliana fell for another. However, with Corypheus threatening to cast ruin upon the world, is it possible for her to reveal the truth of her own heart before it’s too late?

Sang a Lady Radiant - solas/ofc, male trevelyan/ofc, oc-insert wip

Ollie doesn't know why she ended up in Thedas, but she wants it to be a better world when she leaves, one way or another. She just has to figure out how to work around Solas and the Inquisition itself.

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Ellana Lavellan, Mage. - solas/ofc, oc-insert wip

Sweat, blood, and tears. Literally years of preparation, and here she was, at the foot of the mountain path that led up to Haven, while an explosion shook the world and tore a hole into the Beyond.

"Fenedhis."

MCU

Adjustments - bucky barnes/tony stark wip

After the battle at the Triskelion, the Winter Soldier is taken into Avenger's custody and brought to New York. Slowly the extent to which HYDRA had broken the soldier is revealed. Bucky Barnes' recovery will be long and arduous the outcome of which is uncertain.

With his parent's murderer living under his roof, Tony Stark faces an entirely different problem, one he intents to solve his way.

By fixing the broken soldier.

Naruto

bees don't buzz during an eclipse - gen wip

The thing is, the summoning jutsu isn’t actually that hard.

And little academy student Sakura, young and clanless and desperate to prove the world that she’s bigger than her forehead, is also friends with Ino, clan heir with connections to the Nara. She watches Shikaku summon a deer once, and an idea turns in her brain.

It’s not her fault nobody told her the technique wasn’t for pre-genin.

for the caged bird sings of freedom - gen wip

Hyuuga Hinata dies four years after the Fourth Shinobi War, to protect her Hokage.

She wakes up ten years in the past, the day before Graduation, the day before the spar that would seal her fate as the family disappointment and Hanabi's as the next Clan Head.

She makes changes.

One Piece

so much like stars - law/luffy/zoro complete

Stargazing and snow, festivals and dreams, and the quiet change in the dynamic between Law, Luffy, and Zoro during a few cold nights on the way to Zou.

The Sandman

a lucky break(out) - dream/hob gadling, complete

Hob acquires a familiar ruby at an antiquities sale. Said ruby summons something else into his home as well.

#fic recs #weekly fic round up #assassins creed recs #bnha recs #death note recs #dragon age recs #mcu recs #naruto recs #one piece recs #the sandman recs #long post

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switchingolliesmythe · 4 months ago

Text

Ollie gasped lightly as the other teased over that cock and he felt this cock press against the lace of his panties- before suddenly Nate was standing up and giving him that order. "Oh..."Ollie sat up a little more on the seat and made a show of his putting his hands up above his head, curling them into the seat and gave his head a little nod. "Ooo- Give me a good show then Daddy." he wasn't exactly expecting this, but he was hard about it- he might have not liked girls, but he could watch Nate fuck just about anyone. "Ooo Daddy.." Ollie gave a little wolf whistle as the other took that thick, huge cock out from his pants. 'Fuck.." Ollie gasped as he watched Nate push inside her roughly, and those hips moved- fucking into her again and again. Ollie knew his eyes were already darkening with lust as he watches the other slam into the girl before pulling out of her pussy and shoving it back into her ass. It was erotic to the way Nate's glanced back over at him to make sure he was watching, and teeth nips into his lower lips as he spread his own legs to show off his panties again, to show off him just how aching hard his cock was, enjoying the sight of the sweat running down the other forehead.

"Come on, you can fuck her harder..."

Nate’s fingers continue to delicately tease Ollie’s cock, watching the switch as he hums and gasps under Nate’s touch. “You’re right l, it is. Keep your eyes on me, Princess. And keep them off that pussy,” he said, raising his brow in a challenge as he rose to his feet. He pulled his cock out, already hard as he stroked it and set up behind Delilah. He shot JB a nod and got one in return before sliding his large length into her dripping, used pussy. Nate grabbed hard against Delilah’s suspended hips, pulling her roughly into him, growling as she screamed and shook against her ropes. After several thrusts into her he pulled out and pushed his cock deep into her ass, wishing he could see her face as he pressed inside her, crying out at her tight ass gripping against his cock. Nate’s eyes looked up at Ollie, watching him react to Nate’s muscles tightening and sweat beginning to form against his forehead.

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herrlindemann · 4 years ago

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Rammstein in Bravo - 7 May 1998

Witching hour at Babelsberg Castle in Potsdam! Pale moonlight illuminates the walls, bay windows and towers of the bizarre building. The branches of the oak trees squeak in the wind. In the park in front of the castle, six frames in white robes and pale corpse faces are standing in the headlights, waiting for their next assignment. Two of the men are holding snarling wolfhounds on a leash. "Welcome to Castle Dracula," laughs Rammstein singer Till Lindemann and rolls his green fluorescent eyes menacingly. “Today after we turn into bloodthirsty werewolves...”

In the morbid setting of the 18th-century rococo castle, the Berlin industrial rockers are shooting the video for their new single “Du riechst so gut”, which will be released mid-May. "Our most complex and unusual shoot to date," explains guitarist Richard. “We are in front of the camera for four nights. The clip shows horror at its finest!”

In the four and a half minute long werewolf drama, Till, Richard, Schneider, Paul, Flake and Olli pull out all the stops of film technology, transforming people into wolves in creepy scenes. The Rammstein heads were recreated for the animations. Plaster casts modeled from the real faces. In addition to countless extras, garishly dressed-up as guests, dancing to the hard Rammstein-beat minuet in the ballroom or as hunters with ancient muskets on a wolf hunt, a pack of wolves also plays in the clip. "These are Czech wolfhounds that have been back-crossed with real wolves," explains amateur biologist Flake. “These animals get used to people and can be trained. But the wolf instincts are still awake in them. But they accept humans as the pack leader.”

The Rammstein boys came up with the 50-page script for the clip themselves and included motifs from the folk tale "The Seven Ravens" as well as key scenes from classic horror films such as Polanski's "Tanz der Vampire" or "American Werewolf". ”The six of us play a demon that keeps taking on different forms” Paul explains the core of the story. “He sometimes appears as Till, sometimes as Flake, Paul, Richard, Olli or Schneider, when he hasn't just taken on the form of a wolf. His kiss brings death!”

The instrumental intro of the song features a pretty, dark-haired girl, played by the Berlin business student Maja, galloping through the forest on a steaming horse. The beauty loses a handkerchief with which she has just dabbed the sweat from her décolleté. She hasn't noticed the werewolf's green phosphorous eyes spying on her from the bushes. With a giant leap, the beast rushes loose, greedily pounces on the handkerchief and turns into Flake, who sucks in the girl's scent completely entranced, only to immediately become an animal again. He follows the trail to the castle, mingles with the guests in the guise of Schneider, finally breaking into the girl's bedroom as Till. The sight of the naked beauty on her bed turns the Rammstein singer into an animal again: baring his wolf's teeth, he lunges at the girl. His bite also turns you into a werewolf who thirsts for blood and searches for new victims in the ballroom. To the dismay of the guests, it is no longer the sweet girl in the red ball gown, but — with a diabolical grin — the muscular Richard. Then the climax: Richard's chest breaks open: seven slavering wolves jump out. But this time, doom awaits the predators. Through the windows, the hunters open fire on the beasts until they collapse, fatally wounded. In agony, they assume human form again. Till and the beauty meet. They sink into each other's arms for a long, passionate kiss. “For me, the kiss was the real horror of the shoot, even though Maja was a totally sweet partner,” Till laughs with relief at the end of the day at dawn. "Because I'm actually really shy. I trembled more before that scene than when I had my first kiss when I was 13."

#Rammstein #Till Lindemann #Paul Landers #Flake Lorenz #Christoph Schneider #Oliver Riedel #Richard Kruspe #translation #1998 #*#*scans

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siriuslyblack12 · 4 years ago

Note

21 coops please? 🥺🥺

coops credit to @lumosinlove as always :) 21 - jealousy (but like healthy and cute jealousy) we love a little bit of healthy jealousy/possessiveness in this house The hallway to the Lion’s locker room was lively with post-practice adrenaline. The grins and shouts and jokes of the team could barely be contained by the time they could get in the showers and attempt to cool off after a hard day of work. Coach had really pushed them that day, though not enough that they were tired, more that they were edging for more. Remus bounced on his heels and bit his lip as he followed the rest of the team. Team, that was new and still unbelievable. What he didn’t notice was Talker following on his heels, or at least he didn’t notice until a still-gloved hand slapped his ass unexpectedly, “Hey, Rookie.” “Please stop calling me Rookie,” Remus complained with no real bitterness. Most of the guys were probably half-way dressed at that point, so he could stop and turn to face Thomas fully. “You did good today,” Talker replied with a smile. “I never knew how fast you were, Loops. No one else can compete.” Remus chuckled, “Thanks, Talkie, but I’m sure they can.” Thomas shook his head, wrapped an arm around Remus’ shoulders and guided him into the room as he hummed one of those new songs he’d added to the team playlist. The team - as he’d predicted - were in various states of undress. Logan leaned against Leo’s stall with only a pair of sweat pants that didn’t quite fit, whispering something in a low voice that caused a blush. Evgeni and Nado wrestled completely naked in the showers. Kasey, still pretty much fully dressed in goalie kit, danced around the room, occasionally inviting James or Olly to join him in his own world. Remus’ eyes however went straight to Sirius’ stall to find his boyfriend laughing heartily at the scene before him. His freshly cut hair (which Remus absolutely took credit for) fell into his ocean blue eyes and the 12 necklace around his neck swayed with every move of his head. God, Remus was in love. “Get naked, Loops,” Talker said far too loud as they made their way to their stalls. “There’s a new song I want to try out for shower karaoke today!” Shower karaoke. How could he forget? “Alright, alright, I’m on it.” “You bet you are!” Talker drawled out. Remus glanced over at Sirius again, still in his stall but now with one James Potter in front of him trying to coax him out, much to Sirius’ dismay. Remus shed his heavy gear, carefully folding what could be folded in contrast to most others in the room, and stepped into the showers fully. The warmth of the rushing water dancing against his back was refreshing and somehow cooling, bringing him down from his high. Some people, it seemed, were not affected the same way. “Loops, I mean this as platonically as possible,” Talker leaned over from his own shower, “But that ass though! Sirius is one lucky man!” Remus, only mildly mortified, couldn’t help but laugh, “If that’s platonic to you, then I’m not sure what you consider ‘romantic’.” “Wouldn’t you like to know,” He winked slyly. The shampoo bottle in Thomas’ hand suddenly became his personal microphone as Harry Styles started to sing over the speakers. At some point, he held it up to Remus to try and get him to sing along. “Absolutely not,” Remus tried. “My shower karaoke days are behind me. I’ve retired.” “What a shame,” Thomas complained. “I quite enjoyed your solo rendition of ‘Alexander Hamilton’.” Remus rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle right from the other man’s hands, beginning to sing off-key. More guys had entered the showers, joining in to their awful kind-of concert. It was a good job they were good at hockey, Remus thought to himself. As he hit a high note with all the vigour it deserved, Remus heard Talker wolf-whistle loudly, “Go, Loops! I would totally date you if it wasn’t for Noelle, you know.” “And you’d have to get through me,” another voice called out as they stepped forward. As Remus got a better look, he saw Sirius, the only thing on his body the silver necklace that sparkled under the running water. His face was playful though his eyes were stormy as serious. Thomas only whistled again. “You get your man, Cap,” He called out with a grin. Sirius flipped him off as he moved closer to Remus for a brief kiss, “Hey, baby.” “Hi.” “You played good today,” Sirius said honestly, not even realising he was parroting exactly what Thomas had said before. “You always play good, I love you on the ice.” “I love you too,” Remus smiled to his ears. Just as he was about to place a hand on Sirius’ shoulders and meet his face again, Thomas spluttered from his shower. “Keep it PG, guys,” He said. “As much as we love and support you, just remember that you are butt naked right now and sex is better for the bedroom.” Sirius’ eyes widened as Remus flushed all over. The rest of the room erupted in uncontrollable fits of laughter, including Thomas, as Sirius shooed him off with one hand, “Ok, ok, leave us alone.” “But, you know, If you wanted to...” Talker started. “NOPE!”

#coops #coops fluff #sweater weather lumosinlove #sw #sweater weather fanfic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #thomas walker #lumosinlove oc #ficlet #fluff

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noturtypicaldumbblonde · 3 years ago

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i'm begging for you to take my hand (ao3)

by noturtypicaldumbblonde (ao3)

summary : He wanted to go on a first date with him - an actual date -, wanted to call him his boyfriend for the first time, wanted to eventually say "I love you". He wanted to be Max's first choice and wanted him to be the rest of all his firsts. And Max must have known. He always knew what Aki was thinking, feeling, wanting.

Aki Menzies started dating Audrey when they were twelve. She was his best friend - except for Obie, of course, but Aki's dad said he only could have a girlfriend - she was the first one to hold his hand, his first kiss and eventually his first time.

Audrey was all of Aki's firsts. Or so he thought. Because then he was seventeen and Max Wolfe invited him to make their teacher jealous and Aki understood that he still had some firsts left. Max was the first guy he kissed. A whole new first.

Things with Audrey had become... boring. Aki loved her, he really did, but after kissing Max he realized it'd been years since doing anything with Audrey made his stomach turn and his legs get weak. Being with the blonde was comfortable, normal, more of the same.

But Max Wolfe was a different story. Kissing him was like free falling and sleeping with him... wow. After the night audrey organized he understood why every teenager from the Upper East Side wanted Max.

Initially things had been awkward, they didn't know what to do. They tried to be a couple of three - "Throuple, Ak. It's called a throuple" Max had told him at the time with a smirk. - And for a little while it had worked. Audrey went on dates with both, they all had sex, and Aki and Max well, they stayed almost the same. They would hang out, Max would flirt, Aki would blush, only now, they would kiss in the end.

So if you ask Aki Menzies things had worked fine for some time. Then things with Audrey went downhill, the fights became too much and they called it quits. The thing is, if Max Wolfe had never showed up and unintentionally opened Aki's eyes he wouldn't have broken up with Audrey. No Max meant no butterflies in his stomach, no crazy feelings, no wanting to have a bunch of new firsts with someone who isn't his long term girlfriend.

They were grinning, and kissing, and Aki had never been happier.

"Heard you and Aud broke up", Max said one afternoon. They were hanging out in Aki's favorite skate park, as it had become usual for the pair.

"Yeah, well, you know her and you know things between us weren't working anymore. Don't worry, we're still friendly" Aki kept messing up his ollie. That was what being around Max Wolfe made him into, he thought, a distracted and nervous mess.

Max seemed to be enjoying himself anyways. He knew nothing of sports, much less of skating, but he still asked Aki about it, accompanied him in the visits to the skate park, and always seemed at awe while watching Aki do maneuvers, even the simplest ones.

"She told me that..." Max took a deep breath "She also told me I didn't have to choose. Is that what you think too?"

Aki stopped breathing for a second. Is that what he thought? Max would certainly know if he was lying, he wouldn't mention it, but Max could read him like a book. So Aki chose the truth.

"Don't deflect, Akeno" Max said with a smile playing on his lips "I wanna know if you think I should choose or not"

At this point Aki was the most nervous he had been since his dad managed to out him in National TV. Not choosing could probably work, but if he was being honest Aki wanted Max to choose him.

He wanted to go on a first date with him - an actual date -, wanted to call him his boyfriend for the first time, wanted to eventually say "I love you". He wanted to be Max's first choice and wanted him to be the rest of all his firsts. And Max must have known. He always knew what Aki was thinking, feeling, wanting.

"You want to hear me say it?" Max nodded, and Aki started to get closer to him "Well, I want you to choose me. You don't have to, but that's what I want. I want us to go on dates, and meet your parents, and to introduce you to people as my boyfriend. That's what I want, Max."

"That's what I want too."

"I actually didn't think about it. I guess it could work, we barely hung out the three of us anymore so..." Aki trailed off. His hands were starting to sweat "What do you think?"

#gossip girl #gossip girl hbo #gossip girl 2021 #gossip girl reboot #gossip girl hbo max #aki menzies #akeno menzies #aki x max #akimax #gg hbo #gg spoilers #ggrb #gg reboot #max x aki #max wolfe

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tiriansjewel · 4 years ago

Text

find it here on Spotify!

lyric explanations below the cut! (click images for better quality)

1. The 1 by Taylor Swift

“But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one”

As we start the playlist, Luke and Alex are taking a wistful look back on their relationship in the 90s now that they’ve moved on to other people.

2. Coming Clean by Green Day

“Seventeen and strung out on confusion

Trapped inside a roll of disillusion

I found out what it takes to be a man

Now mom and dad will never understand”

Back in the 90s, both Luke and Alex are coming to terms with their sexualities.

3. Smells Like Teen Spirit

“With the lights out, it's less dangerous

Here we are now, entertain us”

Sunset Curve were working towards popularity right at the height of the grunge scene, and I would assume that both Luke and Alex heard quite a bit of this song as teenagers.

4. Now or Never by Sunset Curve

“Keep dreaming like we'll live forever

But live it like it's now or never”

How could I not include Sunset Curve’s own song? They like living in the moment, and that includes their love lives.

5. Everlong by the Foo Fighters

“And I wonder

If everything could ever feel this real forever

If anything could ever be this good again

The only thing I'll ever ask of you

You've got to promise not to stop when I say when”

When you go through adolescence, you crave intimacy with other people. This song exemplifies what Luke and Alex want from each other- to be able to feel, and to be able to experience those feelings on a deeper level.

6. Ocean Size by Jane’s Addiction

“Wish I was ocean size

They cannot move you, man

No one tries

No one pulls you

Out from your hole

Like a tooth aching a jawbone”

Jane’s Addiction was another LA rock band of this time period, and these lyrics about wanting to be powerful like the ocean and having to leave your home really remind me of Luke.

7. All Apologies by Nirvana

“What else should I be?

All apologies

What else should I say?

Everyone is gay”

This song is Kurt Cobain ironically apologizing for his cynical attitude, including the line “everyone is gay” to mock homophobes. It reminds me of Alex- he doesn’t want to be “married and buried”; he is rebelling against his parents’ definition of a correct lifestyle.

8. Freaking Out The Neighborhood by Max DeMarco

“And I know it's no fun

When your first son

Gets up to no good

Starts freaking out the neighborhood”

Emily Patterson and Alex’s mom were probably both pretty appalled by their sons effectively joining the counterculture. At this point, both Luke and Alex are starting to express themselves more, comfortable in who they are and what they want.

9. Hangout With You by Diners

“All I want

Is to talk with you now

And I know that you've got time

You are constantly on my mind

Yes I know that you've got time

To hang out with me

Tonight”

Luke has begun to realize that he likes Alex, and in true Luke fashion, can’t stop thinking about it.

10. Affection by Between Friends

“I'm laying on the floor

We're drinking 'cause we're bored

Oh, I'm looking for affection in all the wrong places

And we'll keep falling on each other to fill the empty spaces”

One night, it all comes out- their feelings and desires- and they decide to begin some kind of friends with benefits type of situation. This song feels like it’s from Luke’s perspective to me.

11. gold rush by Taylor Swift

“What must it be like

To grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominos

I see me padding 'cross your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

At dinner parties

I call you out on your contrarian shit

And the coastal town

We wandered 'round had never

Seen a love as pure as it

And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea

'Cause you know it could never be”

Luke is a magnetic person, attracting everyone, and Alex finds him beautiful. He is in awe of him, but he’s also scared about having feelings he doesn’t know how to handle. This song kind of shows Alex’s internal monologue.

12. Can We Kiss Forever? by Kina

“I tried to reach you, I can't hide

How strong's the feeling when we dive

I crossed the ocean of my mind

My wounds are healing with the salt

All my senses intensified

Whenever you and I, we dive”

This song describes their first kiss, obscured from the world, in my mind. Plus, there’s ocean metaphors. You can’t go wrong with that.

13. 18 by Anarbor

“So if you wanna piss off your parents

Date me to scare them

Show them you're all grown up

If long hair and tattoos are what attract you

Baby, then you're in luck

And I know it's just a phase

You're not in love with me

You wanna piss off your parents, baby

That's alright with me”

Luke knows Alex isn’t in love with him, but they both want to try new things. Bonus points for this song having references to frayed parent-child relationships.

14. Boys Will Be Boys by Miles McKenna

“That graduation day, it never came for you and me

Couple drop-out kids, a shotgun wedding's all we need

Sorry, Mom, Sorry, Dad

Better luck next time

A couple packs a day, pierced nose and tattoos on our legs

No strangers to pretend, we've always been too proud to beg

Sorry, Mom, Sorry, Dad

Better luck next time

Boys will be boys”

This song referencing a “couple of drop out kids” just going with the flow made me think of how Sunset Curve probably never would have finished high school.

15. Just Like You by Three Days Grace

“You thought you were there to guide me, you were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

I could be mean

I could be angry

You know I could be just like you.”

Both Luke and Alex have tons of resentment for their parents, obviously.

16. Sunstroke by Less Than Jake

“We've all been living proof

That time won't wait or choose

We know it ticks on without me and you

And I can't have both sides

Letting go or holding tight

I'm burning bright tonight”

This song about being stubborn and time not waiting really reminded me of Luke, plus the foreshadowing of them becoming ghosts and adapting to a whole new world.

17. Saint Bernard by Lincoln

“Saint Calvin told me not to worry about you

But he's got his own things to deal with

There's really just one thing that we have in common

Neither of us will be missed”

This song just made me think about Alex and his Catholic guilt.

18. Bedroom Hymns by Florence and the Machine

“This is a good a place to fall as any

We'll build our altar here

Make me your Maria

I'm already on my knees

You had Jesus on your breath

And I caught Him in mine

Sweating out confessions

The undone and the divine

This is his body, this is his love

Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough, oh”

Part 2 of Alex and his Catholic guilt. Their relationship has become more carnal, and this song maybe gives a little of Alex’s perspective into that time.

19. Church by Fall Out Boy

“And if death is the last appointment

Then we're all just sitting in the waiting room

I am just a human trying to avoid my certain doom

If you were church, yeah

I'd get on my knees”

Here ends the trilogy of songs with religious references. This song is heady and sensual and also includes some nice foreshadowing of their deaths.

20. Bros by Wolf Alice

“Shake your hair, have some fun

Forget our mothers and past lovers, forget everyone

Oh, I'm so lucky, you are my best friend

Oh, there's no one, there's no one who knows me like you do

Are your lights still on?

I'll keep you safe

If you keep me strong”

Here’s another song from Luke’s perspective- talking about forgetting mothers, being best friends, and keeping Alex safe, as long as Alex keeps him strong.

21. Slip Away by Perfume Genius

“Don't look back, I want to break free

If you'll never see 'em coming You'll never have to hide

Take my hand, take my everything

If we only got a moment

Give it to me now

They'll never break the shape we take

Baby, let all them voices slip away”

Alex struggles with losing his family over his sexuality, and Luke helps him through it.

22. Make Out In My Car by Sufjan Stevens

“I'm not trying to

Go to bed with you

I just wanna make out in my car

And though I'm dying to

Fall in love with you

I just wanna make out in my car”

Another great song about just wanting to exist with someone, about wanting touch and feel and create. They don’t want to fall in love, they just want to be.

23. I Exist I Exist I Exist by Flatsound

“I remember the way you shook

Its a shame that we're not soul mates

Because if i didn't know better

I'd say this feels pretty good

How could i be scared?

When i stretch and feel that you're there

So shut your mouth

Because these words will speak themselves

I can feel them in these blankets

And they're surrounding your figure

Embraced in the quilts

And i cant help but think

You're my missing puzzle piece”

This song is so beautiful- with references to helping a partner through anxiety, and being just like ones mother... a lot of this dynamic in my mind is Luke and Alex reminding each other that they exist, that life is wide and bright, that they’re alive. This gives a window into Luke’s inner feelings as well.

24. Come on, Mess Me Up by Cub Sport

“I found comfort, I fell in love with avoiding problems

But I want this, you know I want this

So come on, mess me up

And you can break me, if you'll still take me

Ruin me, if you'll let me be one of the ones you say you won't forget”

At some point, they become more reckless about their feelings, a little less level headed about their arrangement. Intimacy is an escape.

25. Please Never Fall In Love Again by Ollie MN

“This is what it's like to be lovers

You and me need never be lonely again

Spin with me endlessly or at least until the end

Please never fall in love again”

As usually happens with these arrangements, feelings are caught. Luke and Alex consider making things more serious.

26. Can I Call You Tonight? by Dayglow

“Batteries drain, I get the memo

I think that I might have to let you go

So can I call you tonight?

I'm trying to make up my mind

Just how I feel

Could you tell me what's real?”

The end of their relationship is near, and Alex is unsure. You can decide if this takes place before or after they die.

27. Wicked Game by Chris Isaak

“I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you

And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

No, I don't wanna fall in love with you”

Eventually these relationships all start to feel like games, don’t they?

28. Perfect by The Smashing Pumpkins

“So far I still know who you are

But now I wonder who I was

Angel, you know it's not the end

We'll always be good friends”

Another song about the end of a relationship, and finding yourself again. There’s a bit of resentment there, but they are learning to be friends again.

29. Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy

“Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight

Let the fire breathe me back to life

Baby you were my picket fence

I miss missing you, now and then”

They’ve gotten over each other and become friends again, but are still nostalgic for the past. Bonus points for references about coming back to life.

30. Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by Green Day

“For what it's worth

It was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable

But in the end it's right

I hope you had the time of your life”

Ah yes, the song everyone uses to commemorate bittersweet ends- it’s the perfect clincher for this playlist.

I hope you all enjoy listening!

#julie and the phantoms #lalex #jatp #luke patterson #alex mercer #jatp playlist #luke/alex #playlist #my edit

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endless-whump · 5 years ago

Text

For Now, Its Enough: Simon and Oliver

CW: Extremely creepy whumper, referenced to past noncon, flashback, nightmare setting

Masterpost

---

The hallways twisted endlessly, bare feet padding quietly on the carpeted floor. Oliver’s heart was racing, fingers twisting anxiously at the hem of his sleeve as he looked around.

He was back, he thought he’d escape, he thought Simon got him out,but Simon wasn’t here. He was alone, and knew, deep down, that Cedric was here.

The halls were all too familiar and yet confusing at the same time, passages looping to the same places, turns he thought he knew taking him to unfamiliar rooms. The anxiety in his chest just kept building and building, the fidgeting at his sleeve slowly escalating to a scratching at his wrist.

It was cold, his thin clothes doing nothing to protect him, a small shiver shaking him as he kept walking, glancing at the pictures on the walls and remembering, vaguely, of a time he was dragged down this passage.

Dragged by his ankle, pleading for mercy after breaking a vase, being completely ignored by the man as he was pulled mercilessly to the bedroom.

Oliver pushed away the memory, pulling his gaze from the portrait and staring at the floor as he shuffled along. It just felt like the danger was building, like he was becoming more and more ensnared by a maze, by a labyrinth.

He was in a small room now, one with a couch and fireplace, bookshelves lining the walls. There was a coffee table, books and cups laid out on it. Ones Oliver recognized.

He approached cautiously, feeling dread creep in but unable to stop himself as he took in the familiar setting. He remembered nights sitting by the fire, or up on the couch with Cedric. Simon was never allowed in here, or the bedroom.

Cedric always said he liked having places just for the two of them.

There was a cup that caught Oliver’s attention, a small tea cup. It was an ivory color with intricate patterns, flowers curling around in a beautiful pattern Oliver hated.

He picked it up, hands shaking as his eyes trailed over the familiar patterns. He remembered watching Cedric drink from it, remembered the man bringing it to the pet’s lips, ignoring him weakly shaking his head and forcing him to drink from it.

There was a split second where it felt like time stood still, his breath hitching and stopping completely as there was a footstep, and he knew there were eyes on him, leering over him like a wolf stalking its prey.

“Oh Oliver, you came back. I always knew you would.”

He froze, The deep, familiar voice feeling like a tidal wave knocking him over.

Memories ripped through him painfully, the feeling of rough rope tight around his wrists, soft silk wound carefully, almost gently, but feeling worse. It always felt worse.

A collar buckled tightly around his neck, hands in his hair pulling his head back to expose his neck. The smell of clean lavender soap, strong and artificial and smelling like air freshener, not like the real thing.

The smells and the feelings were all like that. They were strong and powerful and overwhelming but so fake,so artificial.

He got a flash of chamomile, still staring at the small, fragile tea cup he was holding. It was always chamomile, always. Cedric made it with cream and sugar...and for Oliver he always made it with honey..

He could taste the honey, he could even smell it, the sensation making him feel sick. Thoughts flashed through his mind of honey and tea and being held down and metal being shoved in his mouth and-

He bolted upright, gasping for air. He couldn’t breathe, his whole body shaking as he twisted, trying to get out of the covers. He had to get out of the bed, had to get away, he thought he had gotten away. He was trembling, feeling ice cold despite being covered in a thin layer of sweat.

There was a tired, confused groan next to him, the bed shifting as someone next to him sat up.

No..no no no not again, he couldn’t do it again. Please, he couldn’t do it again..

“-ver?”

There were hands on him now, hands were dangerous and pulling and pinning him down and shoving him and grabbing, always always grabbing. This isn't safe, he wasn’t safe anymore.

Oliver whimpered, trying to pull away from the hands on him.

Hands are safe. Owner is safe

The thought echoed in his mind, like a warning, the pain and pressure building in his head like a dull ache, a warning. He tried to fight it, tried to fight the hands on his shoulders.

He didn’t want to, not tonight. Maybe if he begged enough, Cedric would listen. Maybe he’d be gentle tonight.

“No,,no please don’t, stop! Please stop, I can’t I can’t-”

It wasn’t likely, but it was a hope nonetheless. The hands wouldn’t let go, holding him steady, holding him captive. It dawned on Oliver that they didn’t feel like Cedric’s hands. No..no..this wasn’t Cedric.

“S..Simon?” He whispered, frightened, freezing.

“Shh..it's me, Oliver, you’re ok. You’re safe.”

Oliver instantly relaxed, burying himself against Simon’s chest. Strong arms wrapped around him protectively, and they didn’t feel restrictive anymore. Simon was warm, Simon was safe, Simon got him out. He was out.

“I’ve got you,” He hummed as Oliver choked on a sob, clinging for dear life onto him. He wanted to feel safe, fingers twisting and grabbing desperately at Simon's shirt in an attempt to ground himself, to reassure himself that this was real and not just another trick.

Simon meant the smell of fresh coffee and grass, not sharp whiskey and cologne and fake lavender. He meant warmth and safety instead of knives and screaming and chains.

“I’ve got you, you’re not there anymore.” Simon held him close, rocking them gently. “You got out, Oliver. We got out.”

There was a door opening, down the hall, and Oliver’s heart sank. He knew he’d woken someone up, and now he’d be getting looks when he went downstairs.

They normally were understanding of the other rescues, but they always got annoyed at Oliver. They always grumbled about being woken up by the noise, and never let him live down when they got a nose complaint.

He was always treated with an air of annoyance, one that Oliver couldn’t blame them for.

“Don’t think about it, Ollie, you’re ok. They have nightmares too, they shouldn’t give you such a hard time for it.”

Oliver nodded numbly, holding on tight. He didn’t quite believe him, but it was enough to calm him down for now. It was enough for him to tune out Simon whispering harshly to someone, holding the other protectively.

It was enough to try and block out Cedric’s voice still echoing in his mind, the feeling of hands running up his sides, deceivingly gentle.

His breaths eventually evened out, the room going quiet again except for whispered reassurances and crickets outside, the sky still dark in the early hours of the morning.

He tried to relax, soothed by the hand on his back rubbing in circles, easing the tension out of his tight, pained shoulders.

For now, it was enough.

Tag List

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @spiffythespook@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs

#whump #nightmare #scared #creepy whumper #past torture #tw references noncon #Simon and Oliver #my oc's #my writing #this was a fun one to write #Cedric is hella creepy #I love him

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funeral-clown · 5 years ago

Text

for @demibuckybarnes

i promised you and also me from the past that i would write about girls kissing and SO I SHALL

Oliver was a vampire. Harry accepted this. She knew he wasn’t a threat, she let him in her territory, and she even got used to the well intended stalking. Who was she to judge strange friendship rituals? The first time she had dragged a rabbit to Rachel’s door step, she had sighed and dumped a bucket of water on her. THEN refused to let her sleep on the bed! Harry understood that some instincts were unpalatable to others. But she had wrestled down her initial mistrust, and now Ollie was one of her dearest friends, and a welcome guest in her home.

His cousin, Marie, was an entirely different animal. Literally.

While still a vampire, the preference for fruit and the general shyness that softened Ollie’s sharp edges from grating too harshly against her was completely gone. Marie was sharp sharp sharp, grating against her like a whetstone and only getting sharper for it. She was all blood and fang and subtle charm. She was scary, she smelled like mint leaves and cold dirt, and she was ruthlessly polite, which only put Harriet more on edge.

And she wouldn’t stop smiling at her.

“Rachel,” Harry whined, leaning her head on her knee as she sat on the shepherdess’ counter watching her flip through her record log. “Rachel she’s a visiting dignitary, I can’t kick her out. Will you do it for me?”

Rachel’s warm golden eyes slid from the pages of scrambled numbers to Harry’s. The frozen judgmental silence answered for her.

“She keeps winking at me! And catching me in corners. And staring at my neck. And calling me sweetheart. She touched my hair, Rachel! Just touched it!”

If she inhaled too strongly, the electric vampire dead-but-not scent still clung to it. It was making it hard to think, much less sleep.

“So take a bath.”

Harriet scowled.

“I already do that once a week. And that’s once a week enough.”

Rachel grimaced slightly.

“Maybe she keeps bothering you because you smell bad.”

Harry whined.

“I rolled in heather on the way here so I would smell nice!”

“You mean on the way here, as in the 20 mile run that you took on foot? Resulting in you being covered in sweat, dirt, and who knows what else?”

“Heather! That’s what else!”

Rachel sniffed disdainfully, then contorted her face in regret.

“This is why you sleep in the barn.”

Harry jumped off the counter to crouch next to where Rachel was sitting. She put her hands on the arm of the chair, look up imploringly.

Rachel scoffed.

“Try again with the fur on.”

Her hand, Harry noticed with private satisfaction, still pulled it’s way through her tangled hair in a brief caress. Sighing, she closed her eyes and put her head in her lap.

“I like your scent on me better.”

Rachel’s hand froze before gently resuming. Her voice was tight.

“Harriet.”

“I know. But. Just this is nice, right?”

A huff of laughter.

“Yeah. This is nice.”

“Lou and Gary miss you. Ollie mentioned it too.”

She sighed.

“Harriet, i have to figure out the budget-”

“It would just be for a few days!” Harry lifted her head, eyes now bright with excitement. “And anyway, I’m the queen. I can make someone do your budget if it’s that hard. I won’t though,” she backtracked at the stiffened glare, “Because this is your land and your farm and they’re your sheep and it’s your responsibility and no fancy bean counter is going to do your work for you. Right?”

Rachel relaxed with a grin.

“Right.”

“But. Come on, sweetness! I need someone to protect me. I’m you’re queen, did you know that? I can’t be your queen if a pretty lady eats me in a dark corner.”

Eyes rolling, Rachel gently pushed her off her lap. Stretching out, she stood.

“Something tells me attacking you isn’t what’s on her mind.”

“You haven’t seen her yet. She has this. Hungry look in her eye.”

Rachel laughed, and refused to tell her why.

Marie was everything Rachel had expected from a full blooded vampire of her lineage. Alluring. Gorgeous. She was like hypothermia. If you felt warm, you were already done for. Her manners were impeccable. Her everything was impeccable. And after a quick cursory examination of Rachel, her sharp smile said everything.

Not a threat, she felt ring through her bones, not a threat, not a threat, she thinks i’m not a threat and she’s right.

For the first time, Rachel was glad she had left her staff at home. Before her body could even finish going slack with relief, Marie had insinuated herself between her and Harry, taking Rachel’s arm into her own and beaming as she led her in a walk around the garden. Sullenly, Harriet followed.

“Oh how wonderful. Another female companion! It gets to be dull around with only the men about. And what a lovely companion to boot. Do correct me if I overstep, but with your lovely eyes and soft hands you must be Rachel. Darling Harriet has just been gushing about you, dear.”

Against her will, Rachel could feel her cheeks flush darker. If the spark in Marie’s eye grew brighter at the warm glow, she said nothing. Her hands didn’t so much as tighten.

“I’ve heard much of you as well. Bullying my poor friend. She’s quite scared of you.”

Harriet bristled. Marie looked absolutely delighted.

“Bullying? Friend? Is that what they call it in this country? Strange. As for fear, well.” Marie winked. “A little bit only helps the blood to run. Keeps things interesting.”

Harriet wheeled her arms around before pointing, hopping slightly in excitement.

“THAT. That right there, see? See what I’m talking about? She wants to eat me!”

The vampire nodded.

“Very much.”

A small frightened squeak slipped out of Harry. Marie seemed more charmed by it than anything else. Rachel sighed, halting the strange procession.

“Harriet, you beheaded your own mother. Stop acting like a pup.”

She pouted, then eeped again when Marie snapped her teeth playfully, blushing hard.

“I can’t believe you brought me all the way here just for this.”

“She’s scary!”

“She’s flirting.”

Harry froze, then quite impossibly turned redder.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Marie chimed in.

The tall, trembling woman was replaced in an instant by a massive furball. The wolf turned and ran into the large house, doubtless to hide under something until someone threw clothes at her and told her to snap out of it. Rachel sighed fondly.

“You know,” Marie said softly, hand sliding up her wrist, fingers making delicate circles, “I wasn’t kidding about your loveliness.”

“Your hands are cold.”

“Perhaps you could warm them.”

Gently, Rachel pulled her arm away. Marie sighed, but nodded.

“Being rejected twice in one evening isn’t my highest point.”

Rachel laughed.

“Harry likes you.”

Marie stared.

“She just ran away from my advances. Physically ran.”

Rachel shrugged.

“She’s foolish. But she’s not stupid. She brought me all the way here to see how I’d react to you flirting with her.”

Marie’s gaze softened.

“She cares for you very much. I’ve been here a week, and that much is obvious.”

“She cares about everyone. Her heart is too big.”

“You’re deflecting.”

There was a long pause. A gentle breeze stirred the evening blooms.

“All she knows is running. Away from people. Towards people. I’ve lived in the same place my whole life. She needs some time to get used to being settled. I need some time to let go. Someday.” She turned and smiled. “But not today. She still owes me, anyway.”

Marie tilted her head, considering. The low light caught her dark hair as it angled off her face, casting shadows across her cheeks. She nodded once.

“And do I have the intended’s permission?”

“Don’t hurt her.”

“What if I promise she’ll like it?”

Rachel groaned.

“You deserve each other.”

Marie grinned.

“Not too late to change your mind. After all, I’d love to have the set.”

To her own surprise, Rachel thought about it.

“Not now.”

Marie shrugged, shameless.

“I have an eternity to wait.”

“You guys and your puns.”

Harry was under the bed. Under the bed was good. It was dark, and it was warm, and no one could see her or tease her or poke fun or flirt or-

A cool hand began to softly stroke her tail.

“Did you know,” Marie softly spoke aloud to the large protrusion under the mattress, “That your kind and mine have a long history?”

Harry’s ears pricked in interest much against her own will. Curious, she poked her nose out to look.

“It’s true,” Marie continued, “Weres and Vampires have been tied to each other for centuries. In fact,” She continued, settling her sharp nail between the ears of Harry’s now exposed head and scratching in a way that felt wonderful, “There was a time when wolves swore fealty to us. Like pets,” She smirked before tweaking her ear.

Harry grumbled.

“Sweetheart, not that you’re not adorable. But it’s rather disconcerting to try to put the make on a dog.”

Sighing, her head ducked back underneath. A fully human Harry crawled her way back out into the room. The air, she noticed, was cold. She noticed this because she was naked. It didn’t bother her, being naked, but Rachel had always been very insistent she be covered up when people were around.

Marie very politely waited for her to wrap herself in a blanket before continuing.

“Your girlfriend is beautiful.”

“She’s not my-”

Marie raised an eyebrow, and Harry sheepishly closed her mouth.

“She’s also very wise. And kind. I like her very much. If you were a vampire, I would challenge you for her.”

Harry glared. This seemed to amuse Marie.

“Easy. You’re not a vampire. And as scrumptious as you are, you’re not prey either. At least you’re not supposed to be.”

Marie leaned in closer, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone.

“Do you know,” she whispered, “How much of a turn on it is to watch you run away?”

Harry swallowed hard.

“You’re an apex predator, Harriet. You took over a country. There are still bloodstains on the floors. But you act like a little puppy. All wound up and nervous. Ducking into corners and avoiding my eyes- Just like right now. Staring at your hands because you’re too scared to look at a pretty girl.”

Harry’s skin burned from the closeness, fists clenched. Marie only came closer, draped over her, mouth at her ear. She wouldn’t. Stop. Talking.

“You’re acting like prey. It makes me hungry. Is that why you won’t look at me, pet? Scared of what you’ll see?”

Harry growled deep in her chest. Marie smiled.

“Scared I’m gonna eat you up?”

She tugged a long strand of hair, teasing, before smoothing it, raking her fingers through the thick rusty colored hair.

“Scared you’re gonna like it?”

Harry turned to look at her, face stone.

“And if I don’t?”

Marie froze, then slid back.

“Then I leave you and your delicious little farmgirl alone.”

Harry nodded once, eyes unsure.

“I. Rachel is my everything.”

Marie nodded slowly, understanding.

“That’s okay. I’m not looking for forever, you know. I’ve already got that.”

Harry grinned.

“I wasn’t kidding. I like her. She likes you. You like her. It’s sweet. You’re both adorable. But you’re not exclusive, are you.”

Fiddling with the edge of the blanket, Harry shook her head. Marie took her hand.

“It’s an awkward in between, isn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

“You know what always makes me feel better when I’m in a bind?”

Harry looked up, brown eyes falling into deep red.

“Making out.”

Snorting, Harry squeezed Marie’s hand.

“You really like me?”

“I stayed up till noon so I could watch you spar. Noon, Harriet. I’m a vampire. I offered to lick you clean.”

“I thought you were joking! Or it was like. A vampire thing! Communal bathing?”

Marie cupped her hands around Harry’s fact, radiating fondness.

“You’re so stupid,” she whispered, before pressing her lips against hers.

Harry stopped breathing.

“Oh,” she whispered against Marie’s mouth. Marie hummed in encouragement. Smiling into her lips, Harry kissed her back. Marie sighed contentedly, pulling her into her lap, hands on her waist and thumbs swiping up and down her ribs. Harry remembered, idly, that she was mostly naked except for the blanket bunched around her waist, and decided that if it wasn’t a problem for Marie then she certainly didn’t care. Especially not when there was stuff going on with tongues, which she promptly decided was her favorite feeling ever.

Surging forward, she tackled a surprised Marie backwards, swallowing the short shocked laugh and nipping at her bottom lip. She wasn’t as cold as Harry had thought she’d be, warm enough in the heated room, and growing warmer by the second with the stolen heat from Harry’s skin. Marie’s hands settled in her wild hair, twisting and pulling gently at first, then harder at the cut off sound in her throat. Her knees cradled Harry’s body, foot rubbing up and down the inside of her leg, which felt. Weird. But awesome. There was a rhythm to this, she was discovering. A push pull give and take of bodies, a slick wet slide that pulsated. She found hers quickly. Marie had probably never had to look. Between the warmth and the softness of the bed and her skin and her hair and the sharp smell of mint and lightning and-blood. Shit, she’d nicked her tongue on Marie’s fang and hadn’t noticed. She pulled away slightly, apologizing, only for her to respond with a moan.

With strength Harry hadn’t expected, she pulled her down hard before sucking Harry’s tongue into her mouth, probing the small wound slightly before it sealed up. She let out a small groan.

“I should take you home with me. A little snack for the road. You heal so fast I barely got a taste,” she pouted.

“I have a country to run.”

“You hate running it,” Marie’s expression turned sly. “If you came with me you’d never have to do paperwork again. Never have to sit through dull meetings with rude people while the moon sang for you to run. Never have to listen to people call you a monster.”

Harry hesitated.

“Rachel-”

“She could come with us,” Marie began to softly kiss her throat between sentences. Harry was frozen, not sure how to feel about it. “She could come and stay and you would both be mine. She’d like it. You both would.”

Harry keened at the sudden edge of teeth at her neck.

“We’d do it properly. The traditional way. Give you my collar. You’d be such a sweet little mongrel for me, wouldn’t you?”

Harry nodded, dazed.

“Baby. I could just eat you up.”

The teasing nip brought clarity.

“I said yes to the kissing. I didn’t say yes to being dinner.”

Marie leaned back.

“Just a little taste? It won’t be too much, I swear. And I think you’ll like it. Besides, you’ll heal right up. You’re just too damn delectable.”

“Only if you promise to be careful.”

“Obviously. You can’t get to third base with an unconscious person. It’s distasteful.”

“Was that a pun?”

“Obviously.”

Harry rolled over, grinning at the ceiling.

“Alright,” she agreed, “I guess you CAN have your cake and eat it too.”

“I’ve been trying to for a week.”

“I like my blood inside my body, usually. You understand.”

“Who’s talking about blood?”

Harry pinched her.

“Brute.”

“I’m a terrible slobbering conquering monster, haven’t you heard the propaganda?”

“Oh, then I’m a succubus from hell who feeds on the lust of others and leads them into sin.”

“That’s not even propaganda. You’re just bragging.”

Marie grinned before licking a stripe up her neck.

“Obviously.”

“Kiss me first?”

Marie did so.

“Before, after, whenever and wherever you want. This offer will not expire.”

The warm brown eyes below her softened into a fond mellow haze. Marie lied to herself that she wasn’t impossibly charmed.

“You haven’t bitten me yet.”

“I’m savoring the anticipation.”

“Well stop that and savor me instead.”

Smothering a laugh into her neck, she did so.

Three rooms away, Rachel sighed at the noise coming from down the hall.

“I don’t know why I thought they’d be quieter.”

Ollie grimaced from his seat on the ceiling.

“Just be glad you don’t have heightened senses.”

“Honestly I probably wouldn’t mind.”

“PLEASE stop talking about my cousin like that.”

“She started it.”

Groaning, he flopped back against the wall.

“I know. She’s the worst, and she’s probably going to try to kidnap you.”

Rachel shrugged, yawning.

“As long as she let’s me finish up my budgeting first.”

Oliver grimaced again, then sighed.

“I’m going to go bother Markus.”

Rachel waved her hand, already lost in her mountain of paperwork.

“I think he’s trying to unionize the kitchen staff again.”

Ollie gave her a thumbs up before flying out the window. A short shriek of laughter came from down the hall. Despite herself, Rachel felt soft.

She could probably use the vacation days anyhow.

#my ocs #harry and Rachel #marie: how to get a sugar baby when they're also rich and in a long term commitment #oliver: google hasn't been invented yet marie #marie: fuck it. they're both hot this will work out #i'm posting this at 4 20

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torialeysha · 6 years ago

Text

Cold Feet - Part 13

An unfortunate chain of events.

Song: Only love can hurt like this - Paloma Faith

You had to be quick. Charles would be back any minute. Your hands shuffled the pieces of paper as fast as they could. Your eyes scanned letter after letter, looking for something, anything that mentioned Sabini or - what was the other name Tommy mentioned? Charletta? Chiavetta? That didn’t sound right. You search your brain, struggling to remember the name while your hands continue to flick frantically through the pile of papers that to your dismay seemed never ending. Your heart races as fast as your frenzied fingers, knowing you had to get to the bottom of the pile before Charles returns. Your attention is drawn to an aperture in the volume of pages as if it’s been bookmarked. You divide the stack to find out what’s causing the gap. A thick, rectangular piece of paper is the culprit. Picking it up you realise it’s an envelope, it’s discolouration and worn edges suggested that it was old. Your fingers traced along the sealed flap, telling you that it had never been opened. Turning it over you notice the front is blank, void of any name or address. How strange - you think studying it again. After a moments hesitation you decide to open it, convincing yourself that as it wasn’t addressed to anybody, you were doing no wrong. Opening the desk draw you reach in for the letter knife. “Ouch.” A sharp pain causes you to recoil and retract your hand.

A rat, rears it’s ugly, slender head from the partially open draw. The soft light from the desk lamp bounces off its greasy fur. It regards you with black beady eyes. It’s ferocious yellow thangs protruding from its snarling lip - both stained crimson. You suppress a scream, jerking away from the rodent as it escapes the mahogany prison and scurries off to a dark corner. A claret stream gushes from the bite on your hand, covering yourself and Charles’s desk. You grip the wound tightly to stop the bleeding. How were you going to explain this mess? In a blind panic you try to find something to mop up the blood, resorting to using the sleeve of your blouse. Your breath catches as you stare aghast down at the gore which now decorated the envelope in front of you. Scrawled across the front, bold and messy, written in blood - your blood, was the name ‘CHANGRETTA.’

A deafening scream pierces your ears followed by 3 loud pops. Each one causing you to jump. A feeling of pure dread travels through you along with a fear so familiar it makes your blood curdle. Every fibre of your being tells you that you needed to get out of there, but you’re frozen stiff. Unable to move a muscle.

“Yahalom?” A short-lived relief washes over you, however the comfort and warmth that endearment usually brings is missing.

Your eyes dart to the doorway where the voice is coming from. A silhouette of a man fills the rectangle of light. Your eyes strain to recognise the features of the darkened figure. “Alfie?” You whisper uncertainly.

“Ya-ha-lom.” It says again, enunciating every syllable slowly and carefully, purposely emphasising a distinct American accent.

Your eyes widen in horror as it speaks the name it shouldn’t know. The name only he calls you. “Where’s Alfie?” Your voice trembles. The figure smirks.

“He’s been dealt with.”

With the weight of last nights dreadful dream baring heavily on your shoulders, you find yourself stood outside the Aerated baking company of Camden. Looking up at the towering ABC sign you couldn’t help but feel foolish. You knew the only person who would be able to dispel the horror from the nightmare that still clung to you like a cold wet rag was Alfie. The very Alfie you had requested stay away until the mess with Charles and the Italians was sorted. You thought it was for the best, considering Alfies jealous nature and the fact that when you were in each other’s company you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You saw it as unnecessary torment for the both of you. But it was also torture being apart.

You was sure that his absence was the reason for the bad dreams. Your subconscious telling you that you missed him. However there was something about last nights dream that had you rattled. You couldn’t quiet the anonymous American that still echoed tauntingly in you head. Hopefully Alfie will able to shut that Bastard up.

A couple of workers emerged from the bakery, rolling wooden casks along the dock to a waiting canal boat. One of them recognises you. “Come on through, Lass. He’s just got back.” He holds the door open and you slip through with a thanks. The stench of rum and damp is overpowering as you navigate your way down the barrel lined halls. You ignore a wolf-whistle from a worker who was obviously new and had no idea who you were. Luckily for him Alfie wasn’t around to hear it.

Up ahead you see Ollie, his head buried in a newspaper. Completely oblivious to your presence as you strut past him.

“Afternoon, Ollie.” You sing song.

“Afternoon Y/N.” He mumbles flippantly over the racing section of the paper.

“Y/N?” He repeats alarmed. You hear the rustle of his newspaper fall to the floor followed by his heavy footsteps rushing behind you.

“What are you doing ‘ere?” He asks.

“I’m here to buy a dozen bread rolls-“You roll your eyes sarcastically. “-I’m here to see Alfie, ain’t I! what else would I be doing here?��

“Well, Alfie’s not ‘ere...He had to make some collections.” Ollie lies, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s funny. One of the lads just told me he’s back.” You challenge him, now only a couple of feet away from Alfies office.

Ollie grabs your arm, swinging you around before you can get to the door. Stunned, you stumble to a stop before pinning him with an annoyed glare.

“What are you playing at, Ollie?” You bark, restoring order to your hair by flipping the waves from your face and back over your shoulder. You hear Alfie’s muffled voice and try to shoulder past Ollie, inching him closer to Alfie’s office door but he’s still in your way. “Must you do this to me every time?” You snap exasperated. “Don’t you remember what Alfie told you? I’m an exception. Now let me pass.”

“He’s praying.” He exclaims.

“Praying?” You repeat incredulously.

“Yeah...Minchah - Afternoon prayer.”

You eye him suspiciously. His lanky limbs sprawled out like a starfish in front of the door, blocking your way. It’s then that you notice the terrible job Ishmael has done at fixing Alfies office door. You could probably blow it open.

A giggle - too delicate to be Alfies, drifts through the walls of his office, stabbing your ears. The blood drains from your face.

Beads of sweat form on Ollies brow as he sees your expression change. “Minchah sounds fun...Would be a shame for us to miss it.” With the gentlest of pushes you send Ollie crashing through Ishmael’s shabby workmanship. Ollie on top of the distressed wood plummets to the floor. He lands on his back in the middle of Alfie’s office, his arms and legs still outstretched. As the dust begins to settle from Ollies collision, you see why he tried to stop you.

You catch Alfie’s eyes as they avert from a spread-eagled Ollie to you.

“Y/N?” He frowns. You observe the scene in front of you. He still has his coat on, his shirt was half untucked. The button and zip of his trousers was undone, causing them to hang low on his hips.

“Y/N?” This time your name comes from the shrill tone of the woman who’s on her knees in front of Him. Her face drops as she says your name. Alfie’s hand is wrapped around her wrist in a white knuckled grasp.

“This is Y/N?..But you said she was dead.” She raises her eyebrows. Her mascara smudged eyes gaze scornfully at you.

“Shut up.” Alfie shoves her backwards dismissively. Letting go of her wrist. She loses balance, landing on her arse with a thump.

You look away, fighting the nausea that rises in your throat. You had seen and heard enough. Turning on your heel you race to the exit as quickly as your feet could carry you.

“Hey, Where are you going pretty lady?” The worker that wolf-whistled at you a moment ago tries to stop you. You push past him, your eyes burning. You had to get out of there before the tears started to fall.

A loud crashing followed by a wailing protest from the brazen worker you just avoided told you that Alfie wasn’t far behind you. Selfishly you hoped that the confrontation with the worker had stalled Alfie long enough for you to escape before he could catch up to you. Making light work of the heavy bolt of the factory door you make it out on to Bonnie Street. Swiftly turning left, you disappear into Camden Market.

You thought you had made it when you feel someone catch you by the elbow; you don’t have to turn to know it’s Alfie.

“Y/N, Wait.”

“Let me go, Alfie.” You pivot to face him.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“I think it’s exactly what it looks like!” You try to shake your arm from his grip. “Let me go!” You shout again, gaining the attention of some of the market goers.

He grunts, his jaw tight as he forces you backwards and down a darkened alley that separates the bakery from the market.

“What are you doing? Get off of me.” You free one of your arms to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “You’re causing a fucking scene.” He says through gritted teeth. Still you continue to thrash in his arms.

“Stop.” He snaps, shaking you. You slap him hard. He growls pushing you up against the hard brick wall. Imprisoning you with his body. You tense rigidly against him.

“Calm down for Fuck sake, woman. I can explain.”

“That’s her isn’t it?..” A devastating realisation sets in. “The woman you jilted me for...How could I have been so stupid?! You’re just using me.” You shake your head, mentally cursing your niavity.

“What on Earth are you on about?”

“You and Tommy. You’re using me as part of your plan. You needed me to spy on Charles so you fed me a pack of lies about how there was no other woman, just so I would go along with it. How could I have been so gullible to actually believe you.” You try to keep it together, your world crashing down around you.

“Oh for crying out loud. You’re getting yourself in a two an’ eight over nothing.” His face creases in exasperation.

“Nothing?” You shriek. “It didn’t look like nothing to me.”

“What you saw was me trying to get rid of ‘er.”

“And I suppose the flies of your trousers just happened to undo in the struggle.”

“She tried it on, Yeah. And I politely declined. She’s a fucking whore, in’t she. Won’t take no for an answer. It was probably a stroke of Luck you showed up. I’m not into hittin’ women but she was beginning to test my patience.”

“What do you mean she’s a whore?” You ask in disbelief.

“She’s a working girl, a prostitute. She sells her body to earn a couple of Bob.”

“And what was a ‘working girl’ doing in your office?”

“I don’t know. She was there when I got back. I didn’t even have a chance to take my fucking coat off.”

You relax a little. It was feasible. The worker who let you in had told you that Alfie had just got back. And he did have his coat on... Something still didn’t add up though.

“How did she know my name? And why did you tell her I was dead?”

He goes quiet, Pressing his lips together in a thin line. His silence speaks volumes.

“Thought so.” You smirk, unsuccessfully trying to escape him once. “Damn you Alfie Solomons! Let me go!” You cry.

“Just wait a minute. Hear me out...After you were gone - I didn’t know what to do.” His voice was low and strained. You stop struggling. “It was so fucking... painful.” His fingers flex, pressing into your biceps. “Booze took the edge off, yeah. But I needed you. I thought” he takes a pause. “If I pretended she was you, it would ease the pain just long enough for me to get through another day...I used to call her Y/N...That’s how she knows your name. But I didn’t tell her you were dead. I told her you were gone. She must’ve assumed that’s what I meant.”

Your face crumples in disgust.

“It’s an ugly truth, Pet. I know. I ain’t fucking proud of it, but it’s the truth. So you can forget all that bollocks you’re thinking about how I’m using you.”

“It’s damn right disgusting is what it is.”

“Oi, now don’t be a hypocrite. You did the same with the yank.”

“That’s different.”

“How’s it any different? It’s the fucking same, innit!” He erupts. Pressing against you. Nose to nose. His eyes burn into yours. “You were trying to forget, Weren’t cha? Just like me!” He shouts. Anyone else and you would have felt intimidated; you were used to Alfie’s intensity. Aroused by it.

“I wish I could forget.” You mumble. Tears pooling in your eyes.

“You don’t mean that.” His voice turns from irate to one of soft concern.

You didn’t know what you meant. Feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, you go lax in his arms. The wall and Alfie was the only thing keeping you on your feet. He frowns at you and in an act of desperation lowers his lips to yours. You turn your head before he can reach your mouth. His lips landing on your cheek. He hums in annoyance and tries again. You turn once more. His lips grazing your other cheek. Pulling away, he looks at you, his face is a picture of disbelief and something else you’ve never seen before...fear maybe.

“Kiss me dammit.” He grunts. Holding you in place he pushes his lips to yours. You don’t move, not even to kiss back. Your lips stay fixed as he tries to kiss you.

“Don’t fight me, Yahalom. I can’t take it.” He pleads against your mouth. His voice on the edge of desperation. He attempts again, his lips coaxing yours. Something shifts inside you. You’re not sure if it’s because he has said the name you needed to hear or just the pure pleasure of his prefect lips and body against yours but your resistance begins to melt away.

Gradually you surrender. Your mouth clashing mercilessly with his in a hungry battle of desperation. A sickening thought of Alfie in a similar passionate tryst with the working girl settles in your brain, ruining the moment. Overcome with a sudden irrational jealousy you bite Alfie’s lower lip hard. It doesn’t stop him, instead he pushes you harder against the wall. His hands reach round to wrench your hips against his. You moan feeling the hardness of his arousal.

“Alfie.” His name comes from your mouth in a feeble protest. Weak even to your own ears.

“I need you, Yahalom. I need you now.” He grinds his body against yours suggestively.

“Not here.” You gasp a weak objection. Your resolve fragile from your own illogical need for him.

“It has to be here. It has to be now. There’s no way I can go another second without being inside you.”

His shameless need for you took your breath away. He was right, you could no longer deny yourself the pleasure you always so desperately craved. You let out an uncertain whimper, even though you had already made up your mind.

“Fuck me.” The crude command sounded foreign as it fell from your mouth but It’s what you wanted. It was the only words that matched the raw, carnal longing you felt for him. He groans, capturing your head in his hands, crushing your mouth to his, bruising your lips with an unapologetic ferocity.

You pull away breathless.

Alfie checks the privacy of the darkened alley. Pulling open the lapels of his big black coat he wraps them around you, cocooning both of you in the thick, heavy material. The heat radiating from his body causes your breasts to strain against the tight fabric of your dress. You press them into him to relieve the heavy aching. His hands travel down your body and then up your dress, skimming the sensitive skin of your thighs. Your head falls back with a moan when he reaches the burning dampness between your thighs. His fingers push your underwear to the side, exposing the slick, delicate flesh.

Your hands go to his trousers, ignoring the sharp pang of jealousy as you fumble with the button and zip. You reach inside tugging his hard cock free. “Easy, Yahalom.” He admonished softly. You smile wickedly against his lips and begin to stroke him in a slow twisting motion, increasing the speed and pressure as he expands in your palm. He kisses you, groaning and grunting into your mouth as you hand pumps his shaft. He pulls away from your aching wetness to grab your backside. “Wrap your legs around me.” He commands. You do as he says, linking your arms around his shoulders for support. He hitches your hips up and against him. His gaze finds yours and in one swift movement he’s inside you. You whimper at the fullness, your body struggling to accommodate his size as he thrusts into you. A movement catches the corner of your eye and you freeze momentarily when your gaze meets the wide, mascara smudged eyes of the whore from Alfie’s office. Your legs tighten around Alfie pulling him deeper. You smile smugly at her as an agonised sound of ecstasy leaves Alfies mouth. You watch in satisfaction as she storms off in a huff.

Alfies hand travels down to your lower back, protecting you from the impact of the rigid roughness of the wall as he pounds into you with an impatient rapidness.

The raucous racket from the market and the loud shouts from the stall owners trying to sell their goods drown out your collective moans. And with every thrust of Alfie’s hips, the nightmare from the night before slowly disappeared.

Mornings were something Darby Sabini enjoyed in the comfort of his own home. Sat in silence, checking out the bookies favourites in the daily newspaper and tucking into a traditional prima colazione.

However, a little business meeting had him stepping out of his comfort zone and swapping his usual morning ritual for a busy, smokey cafe just off the Farringdon Road. He sat alone, sneering down at his plate. An unappetising pile of sloppy scrambled egg wobbled next to a stack of cremated bacon. He sipped his coffee. His nose crinkling in disgust as the rancid, luke-warm liquid passed his lips. He slammed the cup down in a temper before rubbing his mouth and tongue with a napkin to try and get rid of the taste. Folding the napkin neatly and resting it on his lap, he picks up the newspaper and decides to focus on the horses.

“What’s wrong with ‘er anyway?”

“Oh, she’s been like it for a couple of days now.”

Sabini barely makes it through checking the Kempton runners when a Gossiping gaggle of women disrupt him - so loud that they may as well have been sat at his table.

“I heard she’s in love.” One of the women chirps causing the whole table to erupt in loud obnoxious laughter. Sabini’s back stiffens. The unrelenting tittle-tattle making it impossible for him to focus on the racing odds. His temper rises once again. His grip tightening on the paper. Screwing it up in his clenched fists to an unreadable mess.

“So, who’s the unlucky fella?” One snides bitterly. Sabini can feel his patience dwindling as the catty conversation continues.

“A little birdy told me-“ one pauses, bringing her voice down to a whisper as she says a name.

“Him? Oh, you’re ‘avin me on.” One scoffs in disbelief.

“Well that’s what I heard, anyway.”

“She should have known better than to get involved with a punter. Especially the likes Alfie Solomons. What was she thinking?”

Sabini’s ears prick up at the sound of his rivals name. His temper slowly dissipating as he listens more intently to the women yapping.

“So, what’s all the tears about, then?”

“Well, I also heard...” she reduces her tone to a whisper again. Now fully invested in their conversation, Sabini leans back in his chair, straining to hear what was being said. “That apparently the love of his life has returned... and now he don’t want anything to do with poor Dottie... She caught ‘em at it like rabbits in the middle of Camden Marke-“

“-Shh, Winnie. Here she comes.” The whispers come to an obvious halt.

“Don’t stop on my account, Ladies.” The approaching woman tells them. The table settles into an awkward silence. Buggar me, is that the time? Come on, Ladies. We’ve got work to do.” They empty out of the cafe in a bundle of whispers and smirks, leaving their topic of conversation at the table alone. Sabini turns to observe the woman. She was a pretty little thing... apart from her face which was set in a mask of misery. He pulls the napkin from his lap, dabbing the corners of his mouth arrogantly and rises from his table. He moves to stand behind an empty chair next to the girl. “Dottie is it?” The girl narrows her eyes at Sabini before nodding. “Mind if I join you?” He asks in his quiet raspy voice. The girls face swiftly changes from sad to flirty as she takes in his expensive-looking suit. “Please do.” She signals to the empty chair flashing him a provocative smile. He takes a seat and fishes out his wallet from his jacket pocket. “Now I’m not going to beat around the bush, my dear.” He lays a pile of money on the table. Her eyes light up. “Now, why don’t you tell me all about Alfie Solomons and this girl he’s so cruelly discarded you for.”

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@storm-bjorn @alsheyra @lililolli @jaegers-and-kaijus @lightwoodt @stars-trash-18 @anrm1

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy imagine #Steven Knight

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olliehaldstan · 6 years ago

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Little Muse Facts - Olyviane Haldstan

Instructions: Fill out the questions about your muse, repost don’t reblog, and tag as many people as you want.

1) What does your muse smell like? Ollie typically has a warm, pleasant aroma which encompasses her person. Often reminding one of freshly baked bread, and honey, with just a hint of cinnamon. Working as a barkeep for so long, most of the Half-Orc’s clothing has soaked up the scent of her charge -- be it the loafs of honey bread she bakes in the morning, to the spicy aroma of the Tap’s famous cinnamon whiskey beverage; Violet Fire.

2) How often does your muse bathe/shower? Ollie typically bathes on a daily basis, usually before she heads into work. Depending on how hard she worked, or if a stray customer vomits on her, she may wash in the evening, before bed as well.

3) Does your muse have any tattoos or piercings? She has none, however, on her left thigh she has a series of brand marks which seem pressed over one another - a clear sign of a former slave to multiple masters.

4) Any body movement quirks (e.g. tapping heel, shaking knee)? Ollie almost always folds her arms over her chest and straightens her posture when she feels threatened - an instinctive response, attempting to make herself look bigger. Typically she dons this stance when in the presence of another Half-Orc or Orc.

When brooding or ruminating, she will often prod the tip of her tusk with the breadth of her thumb. A seemingly autonomic, absent-minded response. She quite often enjoys fiddling with her tusks.

5) What do they sleep in? Ollie prefers to sleep in her bed, however, her bed is noticeably more firm than most. When out in the wilderness, she has no qualms about sleeping in the grass, but will often bring a bedroll with her.

6) What’s their favourite piece of clothing? A long, aged and tattered cloak, paired with a tabard of a defunct household. Both bare the symbol of a black sparrow clutching a branch, against a red backdrop. They are the most precious of all her clothing -- belonging to the house of her deceased lord and lover, she refuses to part with them.

7) What do they do when they wake up? Get out of bed, clean her teeth and tusks, make a cup of tea. After this typical ritual, she’ll head out to check her traps, see if she’s caught anything. If she has, she quickly skins them and hangs the skin to be dried, and the meat to be cooked.

After checking her traps, she’ll have a quick wash, get the blood and grime off her skin before opening up her tavern. She opens it nearly every morning - setting tables, cleaning any used mugs, and preparing the drinks for the day.

8) How do they sleep? Position? Ollie is typically plagued by nightmares and often suffers night sweats due to this. However, not many would assume this given the way she typically sleeps - sprawled out, mouth wide open, snoring like she’s sawin’ logs. I’m sure she’s probably smacked @professor-bache a few times in her sleep before.

However, typically, when sleeping with Garry, he’ll usually pull her in close if she begins to noticeably have any nightmares. Along with that, if she ever is stirred from her sleep, she’ll attempt to move in closer to Garry, pressing her face against his chest.

9) What do their hands feel like? Rough and hard. Ollie’s hands, while small and slender, are wracked with callouses. She’d been a warrior for many years, and still, to this day, works with her hands on a daily basis. Serving drinks, popping caps, moving furniture, not to mention her typical hunting trips.

Tagged by @halforc-mercenary (Thanks for the tag! I actually really enjoyed this!)

Tagging: @professor-bache @sunset-sword @auroryn-dawnsworn @ellwelune @ellundil @wildname @ladysaraholt @cordeliaeresholt @a-goat-in-wolfs-clothing @eilitheduskbringer @risrielthron @riizendraconis @nym-wildseeker @swiftsun-bal @alliesweetsong-wra @roserigsby

#prompt

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reignof-fyre · 3 years ago

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Right...I was mostly talking about book!sansa until where the show diverged (terribly, in my opinion) and I disagree with everything you say. Cersei literally ordered her wolf killed, and Sansa continued (in the books) to sing her praises and actively blame ARYA, not Joffrey or Cersei, for Lady's death. She goes to Cersei with the information that Ned wants them to go home to Winterfell because oh, no, my Papa is gonna send me away from my 1 tru luv :( xoxo and that is one reason cersei had the upper hand, because if sansa had kept her trap shut and listened to her dad like arya, she never would have been a hostage.

Sansa waited to send the Knights of the Vale into the fight at a point in which I personally perceived as the LAST POSSIBLE MINUTE when she could have sent them in earlier, and she smiles smugly until she sees Jon running for Winterfell = I saw her unhappy with his survival. Jon had not long just been brought back from the LITERAL dead and had to kill a boy (ollie) he saw as a little brother, and she shows up all "u have to fight man I literally despised as a kid xoxo" :)

Sansa frowns when Jon's named KiTN And only smiles when he looks at her. Rewatch the scene. It happened.

Sansa trusted Petyr to an extent, I agree provably not fully, but in the books (which I was referencing) she totally trusts him. She actively ignores the fact Petyr is poisoning her innocent, six year old cousin and actually insists the maester give Sweetrobin more Sweet Sleep (the maester tells her too much is fatal. And she ignores it). She wants to marry Harry the Heir, and she knows the only way for that marriage to mean anything if is Sweetrobin DIES.

Sansa happily and openly questioning Jon in front of the Lords and ladies of the North lead to discontent and regret for naming Jon King in the first place. Seeing Sansa, Jon's "sister" questioning him and his choices made the Lords think Sansa saw Jon as incompetent when in the books Robb named Jon heir so Sansa has so claim to winterfell whatsoever :) and Jon is the rightful King :) because Robb, the unquestionably named King since Torrhen Stark named Jon Snow heir and it was witnessed by his mother and several Lords because Sansa had been married to Tyrion :))

Jon isn't the type of person to demand gratitude for something he did. He bent the knee to Daenerys because he saw a capable, kind, and competent monarch after she risked her life and her dragons lives to save him and everyone else beyond the wall after their stupid ass decision to go find a Wight. D&D looked at Daenerys (who has never been even hinted at being mad in the books, and is one ofGRRM's fave characters) and thought, "Hmm, she loses everything because of an incompetent hand of the King/a man? She's crazy. Full stop. End of story." That's MISOGYNISTIC when you look at a woman and think, "Hm. She's overly emotional because she's lost her longest friend, Jorah, Missandei, Rhaegal, Viserion, a lot of her army, and now her lover tells her he's the secret love child of her brother and has more claim to a throne she has fought and shed blood sweat and tears for so she loses her mind :)". No????

In essos, Dany lost her unborn son, husband, and pretty much all hope and thought, "Hm, I'm gonna liberate slaves and make the world a better place." And suddenly in westeros it's the opposite??? no!

Sansa told Tyrion. Tyrion ain't that smart, clearly, to figure it out himself. :) sansa is an oathbreaker and "won" her crown through treachery and deceit :))

Sansa had no "right" to declare independence. And yeah, the North prospered for 8,000 years independently with HEALTHY alliances and bolstered population. Because of the War of the 5 Kings, the population is way lower, the other Kingdoms have gone to shit (the reach has no liege lmao because randyll tarly was a oathbreaking weasel and sacked high garden), and Bran is an emotionless weirdo ruling the southern six Kingdoms.

Sansa voluntarily married Ramsay because she wanted her family home back, yes, but how was she, one woman, and petyr, a weasel, supposed to succeed in that? That storyline made NO SENSE WHATSOEVER and was yet another disgusting point written by D&D because apparently a woman can't become strong unless she's brutalised and raped. :)

The War of the 5 Kings was started by Catelyn and Ned's stupidity and Cersei's inability to control her psychotic son :) u can't change my mind.

I completely disagree with everything you said because Sansa (in the show) was a whitewashed, unseasoned piece of chicken bland, rags to riches character and every scene with her in it felt like I was watching paint dry.

Have a great day.

Hi. So, if you've followed me for a while you'll know I can't stand Sansa (from the show, her book character I don't like but I thoroughly enjoy her pov chapters). But I've been rewatching some YouTube videos for research for my fanfic (go check it out, it's on ao3 (mast3rofd3ath)).

Arya says in season 8 during her rather lacklustre reunion with Jon that Sansa is the "Smartest person she's ever met"

I disagree. For several reasons.

1 - Sansa trusted Cersei, who ordered her direwolf killed.

2- she trusted Joffrey after he lied about the altercation at the Trident and threatened to gut her little sister

3- she trusted Littlefinger (she witnesses him kill her aunt and hears a confession of the murder of Jon Arryn) and blatantly lies to the Lords of the Vale (Lord Bronze Yohn would have protected her if she spilled the truth)

4 - she agrees to marry Ramsay Bolton and gives Roose Bolton, the murderer of her brother, a firmer foothold on the north on Littlefingers word (she barely knows him)

5 - she manipulates Jon into taking back winterfell and doesn't tell him about the Knights of the Vale and it very much made me feel as though she waited till the last possible minute to send them in and her little, smug smirk irritates the shit out of me. Sophie's acting and the script makes it feel as though Sansa wants Jon and Rickon dead.

6 - she openly frowns when Jon's named KoTN

7- she openly and happily questions Jon's choices in front of the Northern Lords.

8- she let's littlefinger into her home

9- she does the bare minimum to have littlefinger put on trial (that lie about petyr protecting her by killing lysa, never mentions Jon Arryn) and has Bran do his freaky raven thing to see what he did to Ned

10- doesn't swing the sword herself, let's her assassin sister do it

11- there's no consequences of her lying to yohn in the Vale or waiting till the last minute to send the knights in - less lives would have been lost if they'd been sent in, in the beginning

12 - her "They (the wildlings) owe you (jon) their lives (they don't, and Jon's not the type to take advantage - like sansa does)" line

13 - sansa not understanding how alliances work in season 8 (bitches about Jon giving up his crown for Dany's help, which is the only thing he can give FOR her help)

14 - her breaking a sacred oath in front of a heart tree and abandoning all of the Stark family values to reach her goals (she's like the twisted daughter of littlefinger and cersei)

15 - her not bothering to give the women, children, and elderly a comforting speech in the crypts and pretty much ignoring them

16 - her line of "We wouldn't have winterfell if not for me" to arya

17 - her being rude to Brienne when all brienne wants is to protect her and keep to her vow

18 - her open and blatant dismissal and hatred of Daenerys

19 - her demanding Northern independence because the North "is owed that" as if they 1, have the resources, 2, men to rebuild, 3, alliances in order to get resources when she's being so cold to daenerys, who is actually her actual queen because Jon knelt, and what about an heir, Sansa? Who said she'll never marry again??????

I know it's the fault of the writers her character went to shit, but it honestly pisses me off when people simp over show!sansa like she's the fucking maiden reborn and bash Dany for being "insane" when both of their characters were ruined by TERRIBLE, GARBAGE, LAZY, MISOGYNISTIC WRITERS

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russianspy24 · 6 years ago

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Devils in the Windy City - Chapter 3

Summary: Elijah travels to Chicago, led by a vague prophecy about a girl who could be the Mikaelson family’s salvation. Klaus soon confronts him, and later Rebekah is drawn into another case of family drama. However, this trip to the Windy City turns out to be longer than a short stint. The Mikaelsons discover that their lives may change forever. Including every other vampire’s.

Word Count: 5,924

Author’s Note: This story is posted on FF.net and AO3, and since I’m on Tumblr, decided to post it here. ‘Bout time I’d say. Hopefully you read and enjoy!

Warnings: Rated M

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter 3: When the Levee Breaks

The following three days went by uneventfully. Elijah made sure that he was careful. Olympia Belugin was indeed gone, and Liza was alone. He figured that the wolf girl was somewhere—and far away, he hoped—for the full moon. Not only was he glad that she was gone simply because werewolves and vampires naturally disliked each other; but he was happy that he could watch Liza without her having any disturbances.

Why the hell was she friends with this Olympia was something he didn't end up figuring out. But no matter. He would eventually, he was sure.

There was a minor roadblock during those three days. Not figuratively. Literally. Unable to approach the graystone since that dog of hers would sniff him out, he could only guess as to what the girl did after work. Using his heightened hearing and sight. The window curtains weren't open all the time, though.

The old hotel-converted-apartment building was too high, nine stories, so the bricked house on the other side was fine enough—its roof, that is, for watching. He even had a view into her bedroom. But obviously his mind did not fall into the gutter. He wasn't Niklaus!

Elijah quickly gathered that Liza was a loner. She didn't really leave to go anywhere aside from work, and she and her dog were joined at the hip. The dog even slept with her in bed. And Elijah sensed that she was melancholy more than half the time. The first day that Ollie was gone, Liza went to work by nine in the morning. Elijah watched her sluggishly walk Ramsey, from afar, so that the animal could do his business. Skipping breakfast, she grumpily made her way to the train.

Grumpily—because Elijah was able to discern her body language pretty well. Her shoulders were stiff, and her head was dipped down, hair in a ponytail this time. Her fists were clenched, one around the strap of her bag and the other just at her side. On the train, she wore a face that looked upset. People called this "resting bitch face." Then again, the train car was crowded.

She stood first, then a spot had opened between an elderly man and a busy woman, who read the Wall Street Journal. Liza, with her earbuds in, looked at her phone in her lap, listening to music loud enough to drown out the grinding of the rails and the announcements overhead. Because this was routine, she knew how many stops she was away from her destination at any given moment.

The train had dipped underground before it entered downtown. The stop names were there on the walls of each station, seen through the windows across from her. Luckily, the crowd always thinned by this point. The air became just a bit easier to breathe.

Nothing particularly interesting happened on the ride. There were no begging men or women, or any of those random solo performances that you see on YouTube. No one busted out in a rap or decided to show their acrobatic skills on the hand rails.

The girl watched those around her in between browsing the usual apps, which everyone had, on her phone. Her music ranged from early 2000s Coldplay, the Red Hot Chili Peppers; the classics Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin; to artists nowadays, like The Black Keys and Halsey.

Above on the street, Elijah followed her into the plaza, where there was a Jewel-Osco, the grocery store. There she bought what appeared to be her breakfast. In his opinion, it was a poor one, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it. Liza put the single banana, yogurt cup, and to-go sandwich into her bag. Then she opened a bottle of one of those premade Starbucks frappuccinos and sipped it on her way across the street. She'd made it just in time to the tea shop, getting to work quickly. After a short while, the coffee looked like it perked her up.

The distraction of her job seemed to temporarily fix the girl's mood. Either that or those smiles of hers were masks. But something told Elijah that there was honesty in her expressions when she interacted with her customers. It was just a sales job, but the way she talked about the product, the way she spoke like she cared—maybe Liza afforded herself a reprieve from whatever weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Selling tea was enjoyable to her.

The number of customers during the day was steady. There wasn't a single lull. Liza had a half hour lunch, which she took in the store in the back room. She ended the day at five this time, then headed straight home. As soon as she got there, she took Ramsey out, taking a long walk with him this time—several blocks east to Sheridan, where the beach was in sight. But instead of going further to the edge of the lake, she then turned back. She followed Sheridan up and made their way back around to Winthrop.

At one point, Ramsey had stopped on Ardmore (which intersected Winthrop), looking across the street, and started to bark. There were a few passersby walking in the other direction. Liza had no idea who or what Ramsey saw, but she had to yank him forward. He never even barked at squirrels or birds. There were no fellow canines, either.

Scanning the residential buildings, she saw no one suspicious. When she finally got Ramsey to give up, and the two continued on their way, Elijah stepped out of an alleyway around a four-story apartment complex.

###

The following day, she had off. Despite this, her night of sleep was tremulous. She didn't fall asleep right away, tossing and turning until three or four again. Until...at last...Liza reached for an orange medication bottle from inside her nightstand and shook out one of the pills. The label read Xanax.

When Elijah realized what the medication was, he grew somber. This took him by surprise as much as the smoking did. When the Xanax kicked in fully forty minutes later, the girl was fast asleep, her breathing steady, her pulse languid. With the aid of the drug, she seemed to finally find some sort of peace.

Ramsey remained in bed with her until she woke up around noon. By that time, Elijah had already been there for a couple of hours, waiting for her to rise. Part of him worried, at first. There was a feeling of disappointment that he couldn't shake.

The melancholy had returned. As the girl went about her day, doing the bare minimum, Elijah wished desperately by now to find out exactly what was the matter. What was ailing her...soul. Even though he himself was quite stoic, Elijah was able to feel a great deal. And he knew that when people were alone, they gave into their inner turmoil.

The bare minimum included washing up, showering, and all that; taking Ramsey out for a walk (albeit a short one), and settling on the couch in front of the television with a yogurt and some toast. When daytime television grew insufferable—Liza was not a fan of reality TV—the girl picked up what looked like a journal, or sketchbook, and drew, it looked like. Elijah couldn't tell exactly.

After a more substantial meal—reheating some leftovers, soup maybe? —Liza went into her room to read a book. It was The Unbearable Lightnessof Being by Milan Kundera. Elijah knew of the book, having read it once (he'd read millions of books.) An interesting choice. She read intently for several hours. He had the feeling that she was going to continue to surprise him.

The third day, back to her schedule, didn't allow Liza to wallow. Getting to work in the morning, she returned home before dark and spend the rest of the night doing similar things as the day before. She decided to go to bed early, read again, and eventually reached for the Xanax once more. With it, she fell asleep before midnight, this time.

Elijah didn't camp out on the roof of the neighboring house. He wasn't a caveman or a peeping Tom. There was a hotel that he was staying at in downtown, and he caught a cab to take him there; only he ended up asking the driver to drop him off on Michigan Avenue, off of Lake Shore Drive, so he could walk the rest of the way south.

He was that type of guy—the "take a walk" kind, yes—whether he was in a good mood or bad. Plus, the city was beautiful at night. Magnificent Mile started at Oak Street and roughly spanned all the way down to the Chicago River and the DuSable Bridge. This part of Michigan was an upscale stretch of shopping and hotels. Despite it being very late, there were still people out.

Elijah liked to people watch. He saw how much they had changed. Not only in Chicago, though, of course. Everywhere. In the late 1800s, the sky beckoned the people of the windy city. So, there was a reason why Chicago became the birthplace of skyscrapers. Elijah admired both the classic architecture and the new gleaming steel and glass additions that were added in the 20th century.

He passed the John Hancock Tower, the looming, black pillar that seemed both a monstrosity and an impressive giant. Dark gray masses of clouds dulled the very top. Two blocks down, to the right, was the historic Water Tower, which was one of the few public buildings that survived the fire of 1871. In the years since, it became a symbol of old Chicago.

In Elijah's opinion, the architecture became far more impressive once he neared the bridge. The twenty-minute walk thus far hadn't broken him out in a single drop a sweat. Vampires didn’t sweat. The gothic Tribune Tower glowed a warm orange as he passed it on the left, its flying buttresses haloing the very top like a crown.

Just ahead across the way, the brilliantly illuminated Wrigley Building stood near the edge of the bridge, facing the river. Its terra-cotta facade was flooded with lights. The clock at the very top of the tower read half past midnight, and once Elijah reached the bridge, he paused to look around at the rest of the glittering buildings.

The gaudy Trump Tower stood in all its glassy glory. Across the river, there was the London Guarantee Building, which was much more refined and classic with its colonnade at the entrance. On that side of the water, across the wide, busy street, was the 333 North Michigan Avenue building. It had an art deco style with solid, polished marble slabs on the lower floors, which gave way to vertical bands of limestone and windows that reached all the way to the top.

Those were just some of the remarkable buildings. There were many more that flanked the shores of the river, all reflecting off of the gently rippling water. Elijah put his hands on the dark red rails of the pedestrian walkway of the bridge, facing west, his back to the lake, and took in a lungful of the chill, early spring air. He was yet again reminded of how much Chicago had changed.

With the modern era, tour boats went up and down the river, and he knew that around Saint Patrick’s Day, the water was dyed green. The river was a marvel to all now. In 1893, that was not the case.

Back then, the river was used as a dump where waste was thrown. It drifted into Lake Michigan, and when rains flooded the river, an oily plume flowed out into the body of water. Whereas the atmosphere was fresh now, Elijah still remembered how this part of the city, in particular, smelled like pus oozing from an old wound. There were sanitation projects underway during the time of the World Fair, but the process hadn't been fast.

There was nothing more enjoyable right then and there than this stroll. Niklaus wouldn't appreciate it nearly as much as Elijah did. Rebekah, on the other hand, probably would, particularly because of the fond memories she had with her older brother. Elijah had almost forgotten why he was there in this part of the Midwest, for a brief moment, until he turned his head, the sound of paws on cement reaching his ears.

An orange dog, on a leash, passed by, led by a couple. Upon first glance, it looked like Liza's dog, but this one's ears were floppy. It was a red retriever. And, with a reluctant exhalation of breath, the man let go of the railing and proceeded the rest of the way down.

There was no traffic at this time of night. Sounds of sirens reverberated through the corridors between buildings, but not enough to distract Elijah from his walk. So, he didn't notice the black Cadillac SUV that was slowing down slightly as it passed him.

The London Guarantee Building happened to presently be a hotel, and that was where Elijah was staying. As he approached the corner of Michigan Avenue and Wacker Drive, stepping off of the bridge, he looked up at the concave facade, which was bathed in its own spotlights.

Then he heard the dull sound of a car door shutting somewhere behind him, but he also heard the footsteps and heartbeats of people passing him, and the honking of other cars. He didn't realize that someone was following him until he reached the columns of the hotel's entrance. He was about to walk inside, then stopped suddenly. He just hadn't been paying attention.

But never one to react rashly, Elijah wasn't spinning around. The scent of clean-smelling cologne masked the faint smell of blood, and he quickly recognized the voice.

"Elijah? I knew it was you!"

The person who'd followed him, who'd gotten out of the black Cadillac, was a handsome, young Black man. He had cat-like eyes, a smooth, closely shaved head, and full lips, which were smiling. He wore a sleek, expensive leather jacket and equally expensive jeans and shoes. He looked extra, as kids would say today.

Elijah could never forget Marcel Gerard. He was his brother Niklaus' former protégé, after all, and a man whom Klaus had turned in the early part of the 19th century in New Orleans.

"Marcellus," Elijah said, genuine surprise crossing his features and entering his voice. He was the last person that Elijah had expected to see here—of all places. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you," Marcel said, uncertain at first, for Elijah was tense. But then another smile spread across the younger vampire's face, and he was reaching to pull the Mikaelson into an embrace that Elijah wasn't ready for.

He returned it half-heartedly, Marcel clapped him on the back, and Elijah smiled slightly in return when they pulled away a second later. "Business," he replied coolly.

"Oh yeah? Me too, actually." Marcel, with his coal eyes reflecting the lights around them, glanced back at the view of the river. "Been here for a while actually."

"Is that so?" Elijah had schooled his expression.

Marcel's hand went to the back of his neck and he chuckled. "Yeah. Thought I'd get out of Nola for a bit, been doing some work with the factions here. Some projects. In fact, gotta say that our city could learn from some of the stuff they've got going on here. Nola could do way better."

Elijah's eyebrow raised. A few people stepped out of the hotel, passed them. The vampires took a step to the side. They glanced at the humans, and then Marcel continued.

"What, you surprised? Chicago runs like a well-oiled machine. Well, at least when it comes to our kind and the wolves. The humans always have their own shit going on, all that crime, but yeah—yeah, man, I've been here, helping out, learning a thing or two. I don't plan to stay here forever—I'm definitely going to go back home at some point—but for the time being, I'm working with the vampire council here."

"Sounds very productive, Marcellus," Elijah said with mild interest and didn't inquire further. With Marcel's smile fading, however—for he probably expected a bigger and better reaction from his elder—Elijah cleared his throat and spoke again:

"Yes, I'm really just passing through. I haven't been back here in a while. A long while, actually." He looked past the younger vampire at their surroundings. "I haven't really thought about returning to New Orleans, but perhaps I might. I am very much enjoying Chicago, seeing how much has changed. History has always been one of my weaknesses…" he trailed off.

Although Marcel didn't seem too pleased about his vague explanation, since Marcel himself had just been so frank; at the same time, the younger vampire wasn't really surprised. Elijah was a stiff. "Right. Well, that's cool. Tried those hot dogs at Portillo's yet? Oh, you gotta stop by Lou Malnati's. Best pizza in the city."

Elijah forced a smile in reaction to his cheerful demeanor. "Thank you for the suggestion. I'll take it into consideration."

Marcel pointed to the building behind Elijah. "You staying here?"

The latter looked up at the columns. "Yes, I am."

"I'm staying a couple blocks away from here." A pause from Marcel. This was becoming increasingly awkward for the both of them, yet Marcel was trying to keep their interaction afloat. "How is Klaus?" A beat of hesitation. "Rebekah?"

Elijah replied readily. "Rebekah is in New York. Last I heard from Niklaus, he was...in Miami, I believe?"

Marcel was nodding and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Good to know. Good to know. I've been meaning to see what he was up to." He said nothing about Rebekah, though. "You know what, we should catch up later. Have a drink. I know this nice rooftop place nearby. Beautiful view."

"Yes, all right. Another time." Elijah reached to clasp him briefly on the shoulder. "Sorry, but I was just about to retire for the night." He already started stepping backward toward the glass doors. "We should catch up later." It sounded more like an afterthought.

"Cool. See you later." Then Marcel also began to back away. He raised a finger, pointing at Elijah. "I hope you're not pulling my chain. I do want to catch up. Maybe if you're interested, you can meet some of the city’s council members."

"Maybe. It was nice seeing you." Elijah opened a door. "Good night."

Marcel watched him go inside, the glass door shutting behind the older vampire. Rolling his eyes, he then turned around and started down the sidewalk and around the building. He always thought that Elijah had a stick up his ass.

Marcel wasn't going to be surprised if he never hit him up, but he’d tried. It was the least he could do. It was the right thing, the polite thing. And despite the differences he had with the Mikaelson family, they had been a part of his life long ago.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he dialed a number and told the person on the other line, "Hey, I'm by the London Hotel," then he hung up. He started pocketing his phone afterward, only to look at it again and click on messages. He searched for Klaus' number in his contacts and started writing a text.

Hey, Klaus. It's Marcel. Been a long time. I'm in Chicago, and just saw Elijah here. He told me last he heard you were in Miami. Hit me up sometime. I'm in Chicago for a bit.

He sent it, frowning slightly. He wasn't sure if Klaus would answer him. He also wasn't sure if that was Klaus' number anymore. But he hoped that it was. Elijah being his cold, boring self was fine with him.

Whatever.

But if Marcel wasn't going to hear from his maker, that was going to be a little more disappointing. He wouldn't let it bother him enough so that people would notice. He wasn't like that. He was naturally upbeat and positive, the "life of the party," and charismatic and smart in his business ventures. But, it would still sting. Especially since it had taken so long for him to get over the second-to-last time that Klaus had daggered Rebekah; and the tons of other shit that Klaus had pulled in the last century.

Rebekah was a sorer spot. Marcel tried not to think about her, which was why he hadn't said anything about her apparently being in New York. Before he could fall into that scarred-over black hole, which promised misery, he saw the Cadillac approach, slowing down, and he went to it, opening the passenger side door.

He thought that he'd needed to reach out to Klaus, to at least to tell him about Elijah, and that was that. Marcel wouldn't overthink it. The car took him down Michigan Ave.

###

Elijah was pretty confident that Liza was safe because he was watching her. He hadn't sensed anything supernatural other than her roommate—and not including himself. While there might've been something about her that was more than human, he was simply not certain. So far, there had been only the mention of wolfsbane, but that proved nothing.

So, Liza wasn't in any danger for now, under his watch, from other vampires, wolves, or anything else that went bump in the night.

He thought that she was safe until the day that Olympia was supposed to get back—at least, that's what he assumed since there was no sign of her the night before. That following day, when the effects of the moon should've been completely gone, was a rainy one. It poured from morning to night. Armed with an umbrella and some boots, Liza had to go to work. Despite the weather, the day went as normal. She'd come in by eleven in the morning and left by eight at night when they closed the shop. The train was particularly crowded that night because of the additional people taking public transportation.

When it was time to get off at Bryn Mawr, Liza couldn't squeeze her way through fast enough before the doors closed and the train continued onto the next stop: Thorndale. She cursed her luck, exhausted and sweaty, for the inside of the car was humid. This didn't happen often, but it wasn't a surprise that the people that had been in front of her hadn't let her through. A certain aggression overcame those in a rush to get home.

The girl had sworn under her breath, first in English—"Fuck!"—then in Russian—"Suka!" which meant bitch. And an older woman near her seemed to agree, calling someone who had been ahead of them a Puta for not letting others pass.

Then the woman added, glancing back at the girl: "Some people. Shiiiit. It's a little rain, not the apocalypse."

Aggravated, Liza gripped the rail closest to the sliding doors and clenched her jaw. This meant that she'd have to cross onto the other side of the platform at Thorndale in order to catch the train going in the opposite direction back to her stop.

But when they finally reached Thorndale, and she had gone downstairs to street level, in order to get to the other stairs to go back up, the throng of people was so thick that in a fit of frustration, she threw up her hands altogether and trudged to the exit of the station.

She needed to breathe.

When she got out onto the sidewalk, under an overpass just like the one at her station, she took in a lungful of air and exhaled it. It was just so musty back there. She couldn't take a minute more of the crowd, the lack of breathing space, how hectic it all was. She was hungry and tired, and just wanted to get home to where it was dry and warm. Her stomach churned nauseatingly.

She fixed the strap of her bag on her shoulder, made sure her jacket was zipped all the way and decided to walk. She was already damp from sweat and catching some of the rain before. She had an umbrella that somewhat helped. Getting wetter wasn't worse than suffocating in another train car. She'd worn a sweater underneath, anyway, so it wasn't too chilly. She had three blocks. It might've been three longer blocks than normal, but only three.

Without delay, she marched around the corner and down Winthrop. Headlights smeared across the street like paint, splashes from tires sounding like buckets full of water. The trick was to walk as far away from the street as possible so as not to get possibly splashed. The earthy smell that came with the rain mingled, unpleasantly, with the smell of exhaust.

Her home was ahead. Hopefully, Ollie was feeling much better. Liza knew she would be. After a full moon, she always was. The girl's feet were getting wet, but it wasn't going to take too long.

Once she passed the elementary school on the first block, there was only two more to go. At the first intersection, the light took forever. A couple more people crossed with her, but they turned in different directions. The rest of the buildings ahead were residential.

Elijah was getting wet too, and he didn't have an umbrella. He trailed behind her, the rain helping to mask his presence. Unfortunately, though, the intersection switched lights, and cars drove by before he could get across. He narrowly missed a sheet of water as a car drove by.

"Damn it," he swore. Looking both ways, wondering how long it was going to take, he ran a hand through his short, wet hair and then wiped his face uselessly. He knew he wasn't going to lose Liza, but this was enough for him to miss the sight of her for just a few minutes. But a few minutes were enough. He hadn't expected a couple of humans to endanger the girl.

Liza didn't notice the figure behind her. The rain was just too loud, and so were the cars. She was just concentrating on putting one thoroughly-soaked foot in front of the another. She also had to wipe clinging hair out of her face. While the rain wasn't coming down at an angle, the wind still blew, and her hair was soaked now. She gathered it to one side, one shoulder, and out of the way.

She wasn't close enough to the second intersection when she approached an alleyway, one of those that ran along small buildings. She didn't see the shape that stepped in front of her until she almost ran into it. In her moment of startle, she yelped and quickly backed away before the hands that darted out could catch her.

"Sorry, I—" she started.

It all happened too fast. One of those moments that only gets hazier after it passes and shock sets in. As Liza turned to walk around the man whom she nearly knocked into, she caught sight of the second man who'd caught up behind her. Gasping, she spun around, fear shooting through her all the way from her wet, cold feet, to the hair follicles at the crown of her head.

"Hey, need a ride?" the guy in front of her said. While the second man didn't touch her, he shifted so that he was blocking her path back the way she’d come.

The words rushed out of her mouth as she tried to walk past the first guy: "No, I don't." He stepped in her way. "I don't need a ride—"

She started to shove past him when he grabbed her by the arm. His face was obscured by the rain, the hoodie he wore, and the street lamp that shone behind him in the alley. They both could've been white or otherwise, she didn't have any idea. They could've been young, they could've been a lot older than her.

"Let's get you somewhere dry, baby," the second guy started to say. They wore indistinguishable clothes, whose details she would never remember even if she tried. Baby—it had made her cringe.

Perhaps because the weather seemed to make every citizen of Chicago wary, or the fact that cars drove past, or that silhouettes of people in the distance were blurry but in sight—the two guys began to pull Liza into the alley. She struggled, the umbrella was all but knocked out of her hands, and the rain, full force, filled her eyes, making it harder to see.

"Stop!" she cried out. "Stop! Stop!"

There was a tangle of limbs—hers, theirs. She felt hands on her body, arms around her middle, a hand on her chest, one at the crook of an elbow, and another was on her neck all of a sudden. That one gruffly tried to cover her mouth. She vehemently shook her head to knock it away.

They pulled her into the alley. She tried to hit them with her bag, but she couldn't. It ended up falling to the ground, probably in a puddle because she heard the splash. She was soaked to the bone—her jacket, pants, sweater, seeping into her undergarments. She knew she was crying because she heard the sounds in her own throat, but the rain mixed with the brine that came out of her tear ducts. Through the haze, she could see the dull yellow lights of a car parked in the alley.

Why me? she thought distantly. Why me? Did they follow me from the train? Were they waiting?

The two guys were saying something, but she didn't register what words they said. Maybe they were panicking, or anxious, or angry—she had no idea. They certainly weren't calm or relenting. They dragged her to that car. All she could do was fight—even though she quickly became tired, a girl against two grown men—and stare at the vehicle, thinking, Am I really going to get inside of it? Were they really going to make me?

The noise all three of them heard—before either of the men were able to open one of the doors—sounded like a splash of water, or a whoosh, or both. It was hard to tell. Liza heard it, realized her assailants did too, because the one behind her, who was essentially pushing her, gasped. Then he was suddenly ripped away.

That was the only way to describe it. He was there one second, his arms around her, one hand still trying to cover her mouth so that she wouldn't scream, then he was pulled away. Someone else was there.

There was a scream—that man's scream—then a hard thud. Liza saw a blur out of the corner of her water-filled eyes, and the other guy holding her was yanked next. With this force, Liza found herself falling backward. Her ass hit the cracked, uneven ground of the alley, the palms of her hands seared with pain, and she tried to scramble away from whoever, whatever, was there, too.

Another scream, a kind of scream one rarely hears from a man, longer than the first, and shrill. Her eyesight couldn't focus, but she definitely saw a body being thrown through the air, only to land five feet past the car. The girl herself screamed. Then another blur, this time toward her, and her voice all but died in her throat. She coughed, choking on rainwater and saliva, and she instinctively shielded her face, lying on her back.

It was another man, who fell to his knees before her.

Elijah's normally calm, velvety voice was wavering with concern. Even as she tried to kick him away, he raised his hands in a placating gesture and said, "I'm not here to harm you. Are you hurt? I promise I mean you no harm."

Recognizing his voice from somewhere, Liza was too stunned to say anything. Seeing his face, his familiar face, she let out a horrified sob and scrambled back further. Elijah remained where he was, his hands raised and kneeling before her.

"Elizaveta, I am not going to hurt you," he insisted earnestly. He too was soaked—white button-down, his suit, the black trench coat he wore over, shoulders shining with raindrops.

Liza shook, her eyes wide. How did he know her name? Then she remembered. This man had stopped by her shop earlier in the week. He had bought tea from her. Terrified, she lifted her own hands, as if to fend him away.

"Those men—they can't hurt you anymore. I've stopped them," he went on. "You're safe now. You're safe."

Liza glanced very quickly at the shape of the closest body—dead body, she knew for certain.

"Elizaveta—"

The man inched toward her, making sure she saw his hands all the while, simply wanting her to calm down. This was not what he’d intended. This was not how Elijah had wanted her to meet him. This wasn't supposed to happen. And yet it did. All because he hadn't hurried across the damn street.

The girl was terrified, in shock, and afraid of him, as well—even though he'd had saved her. Mascara and eyeliner smeared those dark eyes of hers. Her lips trembled. He meant her no harm, yet how the hell would she believe him now? But he didn't blame her for being afraid, not at all. He'd just killed those two men. They lay dead on the ground. Frowning deeply, Elijah opened his mouth to say something else.

But in a renewed wave of fear, Liza cried out, squeezing her eyes shut, and there was a ripple in the air between them. It was an invisible yet tangible force. It came from her hands.

Elijah was knocked backward. He was pushed back with such energy that he flew across the alley and toward some trash cans. Liza's eyes flung open, the breath went out of her. Not believing what she'd done, she then turned her hands over, palms toward her, and stared at them.

"Oh, God. No, God. No, no, no," she said.

Elijah's crumpled body was covered by the trash cans, their contents spilling out. Shaking, the girl was climbing to her feet, not wanting to know whether she'd killed him or had only knocked him out. Seeing where she'd dropped her purse, she grabbed it. Without looking back, she sprinted out of the alley.

Tripping on the sidewalk, she scraped her hands again. They were definitely bloody, for they felt warm. But she quickly picked herself back up and didn't stop. Didn't look back. Even running through the last intersection just as the light changed from green to red. Cars honked. She didn't pay attention to them. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, her life depending on it.

She didn't stop until she shoved her way through the gate of her graystone and scrambled up the steps. It took a few tries to get her key into the keyhole. She was past crying. She was weeping, hiccupping, hands shaking. And by the time she reached the second-floor door, she broke down completely.

Inside, she was greeted by the smell of cooking food and the sound of Dean Martin's Mambo Italiano playing. It came from the kitchen.

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